#the lams fic

[still-alive-4now]

Stop mischarecterising Laurens

I'm going to do a rant because none of my friends care enough about a random dead guy. Stop mischarecterising John Laurens in fanfics. I get that it's your fic but my man is not a turtle uwu boy. He is a depressed alcoholic with internalised homophobia and a body count. He is described as suicidally brave. Stop making him a twink. It triggers me beyond human comprehension when he is called a twink.

Also, if you want your fic to be more historically accurate, Hamilton was the one pining over Laurens first not the other way around. Like I already said, Laurens had a lot of internalised homophobia, having grown up rich and needing to meet social standards, while Hamilton grew up on an island, not really being taught that homosexuality is a sin (homosexuality wasn't really a well defined concept but my point stands)

On that note, any lams fic recs (they don't have to be historical, just for the love of god no college aus)

[elenath9]

@existence-is-useless

The alien stood with his fam.  “My name is Gam.  Our town has flooded, we need a dam.”

“What caused this flood?” Cam said to Gam.

“A giant with a battering ram.”

Said Cam, “That doesn’t sound natural, it is a sham.”

“We still should help,” said Lam to Cam.  “Very well, we’ll build your dam.”

A bow from Gam.  “Very glad, I am.”

Then Sam and Lam and Gam and Cam went down the hill to build the dam.  The sticks went clack, the tools went slam.  “Sam, oh Sam, please pass the jam.”

Sam reached over Cam and passed the jam.  Lam used the jam to seal the dam. 

“All finished now,” she said to Cam and closed the jar with a mighty bam.  “Now what’s for lunch?”

“Well, we’ve got ham!”

“Damn!”

[cuti3-p13]

MEETINGS •~

A lams one-shot -

SUMMARY - John Laurens isn't sure what he expects when he volunteers for the revolutionary army, but is it definitely not this.

When John volunteered for the revolutionary army, he expected order. Military. Something his father could be proud of, and see as worthy. What lay in front of him was definitely not that. The camp was a decent enough size, tents littered about the grounds, surrounded by trees. The men, however, were not as plentiful. There were groups of soldiers (if you could call them that), scattered around, talking beside fires or laughing drunkenly to their fellow men. They didn't look like much.

Farmers with guns, as his father so eloquently put.

Henry Laurens believed in the revolution, he was no loyalist, but only because it was in his interest. The less control the British had, the more money he would make, or so he said. John’s father just didn't like General Washington.

“He is one of the weakest Generals I've ever seen! Hell, the last war he made himself out to be a fool. Lost every battle he was in. Son, you will rise above that incompetent man.” There was no room for disagreement, so John nodded.

At the time, John had disregarded his fathers words, but seeing the camp at the state it was in… he'd just have to wait. Two soldiers came up to his horse, and looked up at John, their faces serious. “What business do you have here, sir?” The man who spoke looked up at him, a tall man with dark brown hair, and a rather large forehead. “I’m here to volunteer. John Laurens.” A spark of recognition went through the man’s eyes and he nodded respectfully to John. “Of course sir. The General is expecting you.”

After dismounting his horse, John was lead to a tent that was considerably larger than the others, and was lit by candlelight. Voices could be heard from inside the tent, one of them rising in volume as he came closer.

“…no that is not effective, Meade! If we simply rely on the Congress, we will not win the war- they are incompetent! The men here are starving while they host lavish-!”

The man’s rant was silenced by a deep voice (”quiet, Hamilton”) as John’s escort asked for entry. John picked at the skin on his hands nervously before stepping inside. There were about five desks lined up on the far side of the tent, candles and stacks of paper on their desks. One of them was standing (probably the Hamilton man) but John couldn't make out his face from the angle he was standing at.

“Welcome, Mr. Laurens.” That was definitely the general. He stood to be at least a foot taller than John, his face set in a serious expression and his large presence filling the room. John nodded respectfully and bowed slightly. “Thank you, sir. I hope I can be of service for the cause, and I am willing to exercise my abilities in any way that is needed.” The general nodded, stepping toward him and giving him a firm handshake. “I have corresponded with your father, Mr. Laurens, and I have come the the conclusion you will be most useful as an aide-de-camp. Are you familiar with any foreign languages, sir?” John nodded, putting his hands behind his back, standing straight. “Yes, sir. I am fluent in French and German, sir.”

Washington’s lip twitched at that, and John figured this would be the closest thing to a smile he would ever get from the General. “That is excellent. Hamilton and Lafayette will introduce you to the schedule that every aide must follow. There is to be much work, Mr. Laurens, I hope you will exceed my expectations.”

John’s eyes narrowed at this, but he nodded respectfully anyways, and responded, “Of course, sir. I will work until the task at hand is carried out.” The General nodded, seemingly satisfied, and turned to the other aids who were having a quiet conversation amongst themselves. “Gentlemen, this is John Laurens, he will be joining the aide-de-camps. This will bring us insight to the Congress, as his father is one of the men in it. I expect you all to be working efficiently. Hamilton, you will be tenting with Laurens, and I expect you to demonstrate the correct behavior and practices. Goodnight men.” With that, the General turned on his heel and walked out of the tent.

John’s eyes instantly went to Hamilton and now, without his back turned, he could see him well. He was a short, lean man with fiery red hair that had the appearance of being unkept, but upon closer inspection, was just curly. His eyes were dark blue, so blue, in fact, that they appeared violet in the candle light. His cheekbones were high and slightly flushed, scattered with freckles. He was pretty in a way that was almost girlish, but the set of his jaw showed he was determined, and that he could hold his own. He was looking at John with an unreadable expression, but before John could figure out what it was, a figure stood up and walked over to him.

“Since the General was ever so impolite as to not introduce us, I will take it upon myself. I am Richard Meade, pleased to meet you.” The man was a bit shorter than John, and had a mischievous sparkle in his eyes John couldn't help but smile at. “I’m sure its in poor fashion to call your General impolite, sir.” John’s eyes sparkled as he jested with this silly man, and shook his hand firmly. Meade’s eyes lit up and he laughed good-naturedly, looking back to the other aids. “I like this one!”

“I am sure he doesn't like you, Kidder.” Another man piped up from one of the desks. The man had a sharp, cunning face with golden hair falling down his shoulders. Pretty. John internally scolded himself, picking at his hands. He had to leave all of that in Geneva. The man shot John a grin and nodded respectfully to him. “Tech Tilghman. Pay no mind to Meade, he is exceedingly idiotic.” Meade shouted a retort back to the man and John was shocked at how informal this all was. It was very unfamiliar.

“All of you are uncivilized.” A dissatisfied voice came from one of the desks, where an older man sat, glasses on and translating. He payed John no attention, instead just giving him a quick nod. Meade sighed and looked at John, his expression no less mischievous. “Do not mind Fitzgerald, he is sour his hair is greying.” John’s eyes widened and he stiffed a laugh, coughing into his fist instead. The older man payed no mind, just grumbled and continued his work.

“I take it you are Henry Laurens’s son?” A sharp voice cut through the conversation, and John’s attention was brought back to the pretty ginger man once again. Meade raided his eyebrows and slid away back to his desk, leaving him and Hamilton to get acquainted. “Yes, I would prefer to simply be known as John Laurens.” John replies curtly, giving the man a cold look. He had been referred to as his father’s son far too many times in one evening, and this was pushing it. Hamilton raised his eyebrows, and gave him a calculating look.

“Yes, of course, but it is your father who got you here, correct?” Hamilton fixed John with a dry, uninterested look, which enraged John more. “I have volunteered for this position, to help my country, same as you. How I got here is none of your concern, sir.” John grit his teeth and glared down at the man who was seemingly unaffected.

“You are in no ways the same as me, sir. I have fought for my position, you have not.”

“I am willing to fight.”

Hamilton looked up at him, his eyes searching John’s face. He must've gotten what he wanted, because he looked away for a brief moment, and then gestured to the desk beside him. “I should hope so. I will show you what you must do.” John sat, thankful the man had found it in him to be polite, and accepted the papers he was handed. “This is… is all of this from France?” John asked, shocked at the amount of papers on his and Hamiltons desk.

Hamiltons lips quirked up, a strange fire in his eyes. “Is this too much work for you, Mr. Laurens?” He quipped, his mouth curling teasingly. John’s cheeks flushed and he huffed, taking the papers with a sharp look at Hamilton. “No, I am just surprised at the amount of correspondence. Mr. Laurens sounds like you are addressing my father.” Laurens grumbled, his lips turning down. Hamilton let out a chuckle and eyed John mischievously. “I shall address you as Laurens then.” Alexander gave John a teasing smile, and his eyes returned to his work. “This is only a small bit of what we get each day, Laurens. You will be surprised further to-morrow.” John raided his eyebrows, and reached for his quill to begin the translations.

Hamilton interrupted him. “Perhaps… perhaps our first conversation did not go very well. Let us start new. I am Alexander Hamilton, it is a pleasure to meet you.” Hamilton stuck his freckled hand out, an inviting look in his eyes. John smiled slightly and grasped his hand, shaking it. “John Laurens, pleased to meet you.”

Hamilton hummed, looking at John with those pretty eyes. “I have a feeling we will work well together, Mr. Laurens.”

-

[soxsisindeviltown]

Laf: alright John you win the bet, here's twenty dollars *gives to him*

Laurens: uh could you give me two tens?

*Hands Laf the money back*

Laf: oh okay *gives him two tens* why did you need two te- OH

*Mutters*

Jésus-Christ, tu es gay

[pythiaswine]

CW: gore below the cut

"Dreamers" Hamilton/Laurens amrev comic, click for better quality

[hecksee]

im learning i have an intense fondness for historical gays. modern gays are good, but theres just Something about historical queers that hit my brain. bonus points if they're from the 17th-19th century.

[trylvieuno]

I was rereading @ciceroprofacto ’s wonderful Song Of Alexander and I needed to draw out my feelings about them

[poppitron360]

In preparation for me going to see Hamilton in 4hrs and 4mins (I booked it a year ago), I just reread my old lams fanfiction from a couple of years ago.

I don’t feel cringe easily, but man…

What the fuck was I writing??? And I’m pretty sure I stole that line from Buffy the Vampire Slayer??!?! And I forgot that that was the ending!!!?!

Ohhh god…

Anyway, if this gets over 30 notes, I’ll post it. Lmk if you wanna be tagged in it.

[froguemorgue]

fuck. okay. I wrote a Ghosts CBS crossover with Hamilton. who knew that would be my debut into true multi fandom writing on AO3?

[tired-lamb]

Never Alone (On Christmas Day)

A TLG christmas fic brought to you by yours truly. Takes place in a modern human au, where the Guard are young adult age range. For the purposes of this story, Kion works under Rafiki who runs a store (idk what he sells).

Merry Christmas TLG tumblr! I wanted to put something out for the season, and speedwrote this in like. 2 hours max last night. Due to that very reason, the following christmas tlg fic is extremely messy, rough and all over the place, for which I apologise. I tried brushing up whatever I could in the morning, and though it’s not my best work I’m still pretty satisfied with it. Hope you enjoy either way, and Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays to you!

[ THE greatest(s) of all ]

best bud!! 6:21 p.m.  [ Image attached depicts Bunga, Ono, Beshte, Timon and Pumbaa all facing the camera. The house and their surroundings are decorated with Christmas lights and wreaths. Bunga holds the camera up, and the rest are seated behind him, posing. ] best bud!! 6:21 p.m. merry christmas eve guys!!!!  emergency no. (fuli) 6:25 p.m. aww, you guys spending christmas at timon and pumbaa’s huh? best bud!! 6:25 p.m. you BET!! @Kion wish you were here dude You 6:27 p.m. Wish I could too, Bunga, but Kiara’s bugging me to spend it at her’s You 6:27 p.m. Esp with the baby on the way literal teddy bear 6:30 p.m. Due in a couple of months, right?  literal teddy bear 6:30 p.m. Must be hard :( hope you still have fun there, Kion! We’ll miss you emergency no. (fuli) 6:31 p.m. you sure you don’t want me to drop by or anything?  emergency no. (fuli) 6:31 p.m. I know I whine about how you guys always wanna ruin my christmas me time but I seriously could come over if you want You 6:32 p.m. Nah, it’s fine. Besides, I don’t think Rafiki will let me off aaand you’re also like a bunch of kilometers away from me, Fuli. You 6:32 p.m. Idk why but it feels like this year everybody wants to keep me busy around this time best bud!! 6:32 p.m. whaaat why would they do that  emergency no. (fuli) 6:32 p.m. 🙂 literal teddy bear 6:32 p.m. Lmao You 6:33 p.m. ?? You 6:33 p.m. Ignoring whatever that was, I gotta go. Rafiki’s calling, seems like someone’s got a problem with his shit again, lol.  local braincell 6:33 p.m. late to the convo but goodluck with the baby and rafiki, kion! we’ll miss you :( You 6:34 p.m. Let me guess, Timon and Pumbaa fussing over you again?  You 6:34 p.m. Ok, seriously gtg now. Bye guys! Merry christmas eve :)

.***.

Kion really didn’t mind that his Christmas might get wiled away thirdwheeling his sister and Kovu, and definitely doesn’t mind that all his best friends are spending Christmas without him. Definitely doesn’t mind that even his other friends, like Jasiri and Janja, are also busy with plans for Christmas. He also most definitely doesn’t mind that he’s stuck working with Rafiki in his spiritual-y shop, and that Rafiki has unusually been working him to the bone these days. Doesn’t care that the snow and the Christmas lights call to him, or that everytime his friends send him photos of their celebrations, his heart aches just a little bit. 

Nope. Definitely doesn’t mind. 

Kion sighs, nearly letting the box of ornaments in his hand fall to the ground. He manages to save it just in time, however, and lets out another sigh, this time of relief, because he just saved himself another scolding from Rafiki. From somewhere around the extremely-messy-despite-his-best-attempts shop, he hears Rafiki laughing heartily with a customer. The sound fills the air, and as much as Kion hated to admit it, it pierces through his heart in a negative way. He can’t help it; it seems as though the entire world, including even his own boss, is enjoying this season. The entire world, but him.

He makes his way towards the main counter, finding Rafiki and the customer he had been laughing with. He places the box on the table with a loud oomph, alerting the other two of his presence.

“Ah, Kion! Kion! Come, meet Mrs. Janna!” Rafiki calls to him loudly, even though he’s right next to him. Kion forces a smile, because he doesn’t want to dampen other people’s mood, and faces the ‘Mrs. Janna’ in question.

She’s an old lady, evident by the smile lines and crow’s feet on her face. Despite this, there’s a general warmness to her that you don’t usually find in older people, something akin to a crackling fire in the winter months. Mrs Janna smiles at Kion, genuine unlike Kion’s own. Kion thinks she knows his smile is only for pleasantries, but doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Habari, Kion?” Mrs. Janna asks, her voice deep and grounding. It reminds him of the recordings he heard of his grandfather’s voice.

“Sawa, Mrs. Janna, thank you,” Kion responds, trying his best not to let his despair seep into the conversation. He should get a hold of himself.

Rafiki laughs once more, giving Kion a pat on the back which feels more like a slap than any pat Kion’s ever gotten. 

“Kion here is unhappy these days, I won’t let him off work! Ah, Janna, what can you-a do? When the season arrives, that is when people come! Am I not right, Kion?” 

Kion lets out a nervous chuckle. “Well, I wouldn’t say unhappy, but definitely a bit lonely.” 

“Ey, ey, Kion,” Rafiki says, moving on from the previous topic, “Mrs. Janna here has found someone who can help us! She is interested in working with me, isn’t that right, Janna?” 

Mrs Janna nods, her eyes sparkling for just a moment. “Indeed, Rafiki. I do have someone who’d like to come and work here, though she’ll be arriving after the New Years. Maybe then Kion might not be so unhappy, perhaps?” 

She looks to Kion, half teasing and half serious. Kion appreciates the sentiment nonetheless, and responds in the affirmative. Better to say yes than anything else, he supposes. 

It’s not long before the two are lost in their own conversation, something about old times and how things have changed so much. Kion decides to leave them to it and visit his favourite corner of the store; the little nook where their biggest window lies. 

It’s a little elevated, and sits right where their staircase turns. Kion has to climb up a bit in order to get to it, but he manages in the end, and it’s worth it. It doesn’t have much space, just enough for Kion to sit in peace during his breaks, but the view outside is what makes it Kion’s favourite corner. The roads lie some way beneath the window, strangers passing by. These days, the numbers have multiplied. He credits it to the Christmas season, and how there must be families visiting relatives in their small town. Now, sitting in his space, he remembers that he, too, will be visiting his own family this Christmas.

He’s not totally bummed out that he’s spending it with Kiara and Kovu; just that he wishes he could spend it with his friends instead. He loves his sister and brother-in-law to death, but Kiara’s moodswings are more frequent nowadays due to the pregnancy hormones. Kion hasn’t visited in a while to know how bad it is, but he’s dealth with her period hormones before, and Kion would rather do anything but go through that again, thank you very much. 

Alas, the only other option is to stay in his apartment and hole up, since all his friends are out of town. He supposes that visiting his family, even if it means thirdwheeling, is still worth it. 

Today, Kion finds himself watching the snow fall on the streets, snowflakes occasionally decorating the window beside him. Rafiki and Mrs. Janna’s conversation can still he heard from where he is, but slowly the sound muffles and Kion feels his eyelids grow heavy. He knows Rafiki will call him back to work soon, but just for now, he lets his body shut down. 

Just for now. 

.***.

The big day has arrived, and boy has it kept Kion busy. Texts and notifications flood his phone screen before getting cleared out for later. Rafiki orders him about with customers here and there, the store bustling with company. Somehow, the loudest sound in the store isn’t Rafiki’s voice today, and Kion finds his ears nearly bursting with how much chatter he can hear at once. Outside isn’t any better, as snow collects itself in piles and trucks blare horns as they come to clear the pathways. People are shouting here and there, wishing each other a merry Christmas, and families flood the streets with little kids running around in mufflers and big, poofy jackets. 

It’s the busiest the town ever gets, and will ever get. Kion’s become accustomed to it, though the sight of friends and families and their joyful faces as they spend the day together does sting just a bit. He gets more than a dozen texts from his friends, all of them wishing him a merry Christmas. Amongst them lies his sister and his conversation, where Kiara is going on about something that Kion can’t comprehend because his mind is in a whirl when he’s in work mode. It can’t be that important, if Kiara’s not calling him about it, and so Kion decides to read through the messages once he gets his break. 

“Kion! Where are you?” Rafiki calls from somewhere. Kion chuckles to himself, glad that his Christmas is at least starting with someone familiar. 

.***.

dada kiara 3:16 p.m. Hey Kion! Merry Christmas little dude :] dada kiara 3:16 p.m. There’s been some change of plans, so is it alright if you meet me and Kovu at this place?  dada kiara 3:16 p.m. [ Embedded: link to location ] dada kiara 3:17 p.m. We won’t be home by the time you come, so just meet us here and we’ll go back home together dada kiara 3:17 p.m. Ok??

dada kiara 4:00 p.m. Boy you better see the message 

dada kiara 4:32 p.m. Kion. 

dada kiara 5:12 p.m. Don’t blame me if you find our door locked

dada kiara 6:46 p.m.  I hope you’re on your way now at least

[ 2 Missed calls from dada kiara ]

You 7:43 p.m. 👍

.***.

Kion groans to himself as horns blare at him and his taxi in the middle of traffic because of course there would be traffic on the busiest and most celebratory day in all the year. He opens his phone for what feels like the twelfth time, the bright screen burning into his retina as he scrolls through all the unresponded messages. He booked a taxi the minute he got off work, and somehow despite being two hours into traffic, he still has no energy to reply to all his friends and family. 

Why did the meet-up place have to be on the busiest street? 

He lazily scrolls through his chats, trying his best to ignore his driver’s cursing and horns that were still blaring at Spirits know what. His fingers pad his screen, finding their way to his best friends’ and his groupchat. Without actually wanting to, Kion opens it. 

[ THE greatest(s) of all ]

local braincell 5:20 a.m. merry christmas everyone! best bud!! 5:20 a.m. ono why are you up local braincell 5:20 a.m. I could ask you the samw question

literal teddy bear 7:01 a.m. Samw literal teddy bear 7:01 a.m. Merry Christmas everyone!!

emergency no. (fuli) 10:07 a.m. why in spirits’ name are you three up so early best bud!! 10:10 a.m. damn merry christmas to you too ig emergency no. (fuli) 10:10 a.m. yea yea merry christmas to you too loser best bud!! 10:10 a.m. um ☝️ if I recall I’m not the one spending christmas ALONE?? best bud!! 10:11 a.m. so really whose taking Ls here local braincell 10:11 a.m. if you don’t get your ass in the car this minute then it’ll be you emergency no. (fuli) 10:11 a.m. LMAOOO thanks ono 🫶 local braincell 10:11 a.m. <3

literal teddy bear 3:20 p.m. [ Image attached: A photo of Bunga, Ono and Beshte in Timon and Pumbaa’s garden. Bunga is running away from Ono and Beshte, who have big snowballs in their hands. ] best bud!! 3:24 p.m. HEY

best bud!! 6:58 p.m. This message was deleted. best bud!! 6:58 p.m. wait nevermind wrong group emergency no. (fuli) 6:59 p.m. This message was deleted.

Kion is just about to type a message, when he finds himself lurching forward. He nearly hits his head against the back of the front seat, mumbling curses to himself. His taxi driver apologies, blaming a car or two in front of him. Kion doesn’t respond, instead going back to his phone. Where before there was the groupchat with his best friends, his keyboard open and ready for a message, there now lies a black screen. 

Kion knows it’s not that deep, but somehow it manages to sprout tears from his eyes, and before he knows it there’s streams flowing down his face while he tries his best to keep quiet so his driver doesn’t make a fuss. He misses his friends. He was going to meet some of his family, but somehow he misses them too. It’s as if he’s been aching for them the entire day, the entire season. Christmas without them doesn’t feel right, and Kion feels a hollow, aching pain inside his chest. His friends were somewhere celebrating while he was stuck in traffic, a mess both physically and mentally. He missed his home— his true home. 

Unfortunately, the road itself doesn’t give him any time to wallow in sadness as his driver is now speeding through. Kion hurriedly rubs tears away, trying his best to look composed, and finds that they’re no longer stuck in traffic. He recognises the area now, and quickly sends his sister a message saying he’s almost there. He takes a deep breath, maybe two, and the thought of meeting his sister in a couple of minutes manages to cheer him up just a bit. 

The taxi soon halts in front of the location, and Kion is slightly surprised to find that the place he’s meant to go to is some basement belonging to the house right in front of him. After double-checking with his sister, he pays the driver and makes his way towards the basement door. 

He takes in another breath. 

Two.

No time to sit in self-pity, Kion, he tells himself, just.. enjoy the moment. You can call your friends later. Don’t be whiny about it.

He pushes the door open and leads himself down the staircase, groaning to himself once more when he finds the room dark and otherwise empty. He’s just about to look around for a light switch and call his sister, when all of a sudden the room bursts with warmth, joy and light as the actual lights turn on, too. Kion blinks a couple of times courtesy of the sudden change, but soon he’s opening his eyes to find—

“MERRY CHRISTMAS!” yells Bunga, Beshte, Ono and Fuli. His friends. His friends that he thought he would be spending Christmas without. His friends that he thought were faraway and not right before him. His friends that he somehow got because Spirits does Kion not deserve them at all.

“Hey, I know what you’re thinking,” Bunga says, a stern glance directed towards him, “and to be clear, you do deserve all of this.”

Kion sputters, still recovering from the shock. He takes a look around the basement itself, and finds it well decorated, with some cakes set on a table and a beautifully lit Christmas tree behind his friends. He struggles to find his words, and is left with his mouth agape.

“How— but— Kiara..”

“Kiara helped us plan the entire thing, and, just to be clear, you’re still spending the rest of the season with her,” Fuli explains, making her way towards Kion and giving him a good pat on the back in an attempt to bring him back to reality.

“However, you will be spending tonight and the next two days with us,” Ono continues, a wide smile painting his face. “We’ve already planned everything out, and we’ll be having a huge slumber party right here for tonight.”

“The blankets and pillows are arriving in a bit, we had to rely on your sister for that too,” Beshte says, a sheepish grin on his own face.

“But— wait, whose basement even is this?” Kion finally gains enough of a hold on himself to say.

Here, Bunga steps forward and proceeds to perform elaborate moves before proudly standing in front of his bestest friend.

“This would be my uncles’ brother’s sister-in-law’s friend’s basement! They talked it all out; said we’re lucky enough to get in even for a night.”

Kion is still trying to digest everything in when he feels his phone buzz and sound a notification. It’s a message from Kiara.

dada kiara 8:27 p.m. Tell your friends we’ll be there in a bit, yea? dada kiara 8:27 p.m. Hope you enjoy little bro <3

He can’t help but smile, feeling a little silly about all his worry a couple of minutes ago. He looks back up to his friends, all surrounding him, radiating joy, love, and home. He feels the same things bursting in his chest, and Kion can’t help but give in to his impulses. Just this once.

He tackles all of them down to the ground and pushes them into a hug. A flurry of laughter fills the air, and it’s the best Christmas gift Kion has ever gotten.

Still squeezing them as best as he can, while stretching his arms out too, he thanks them and thanks them, before finally screaming and yelling as loudly and as lovingly as he can—

Merry Christmas.

[artemx746]

what Jessica Townsend said in part 1 of this week's Nevermoor recap, the part about the book trial giving useful information about the candidates to the Wundrous Society, really stuck with me because there's obviously a connection to the Loyalty Trial but I'm also thinking about stuff that can potentially happen in future books. We know Holliday Wu is going to be having a role in Silverborn but just think about the information that the WunSoc can pass along to her, how much does she know about the individual members of Unit 919? Does she know their greatest fears? Will she use that against them? When will she?

[anthropocia]

Jessica, in Atreides hues.

Alberta Ferreti SS13 RTW. Marc Jacobs FW04 RTW. Derek Lam SS06 RTW. PRADA FW19 RTW. DIOR SS11 Couture

[icarus-summer]

Posted a new chapter of my fic today <3

Rating: Mature

Warning: Major character death

Fandom: Hamilton - Miranda, 18th Century RPF

Relationship: Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62240098/chapters/159969214

[cuti3-p13]

Chapters: 4/? Fandom: Historical RPF, 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution - Fandom, Alexander Hamilton - Ron Chernow Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler Characters: Alexander Hamilton, John Laurens, George Washington, Richard Kidder Meade (1746-1805), Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette, Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Margaret "Peggy" Schuyler, Thomas Jefferson, Francis Kinloch (1755–1826) Additional Tags: Period-Typical Homophobia, John Laurens is a Mess, Alexander Hamilton is a Mess, Eliza Schuyler is So Done, Angst, John Laurens Lives, He's alive (yay?), Hamilton wants them BOTH, this mf, John is low-key stressing, Past Lovers, Kinda?, VERY HOMOEROTIC, they r in love and creating the government, historical appearances, Historical, kinda accurate, they r all so messed up lowkey, Francis it a hoe, dialogue kills me, Bisexual Alexander Hamilton, Gay John Laurens Summary:

John Laurens did not die in 1782.

Alexander Hamilton is working under President Washington as Secretary of Treasury, and providing support for the new U.S. Constitution.

John Laurens is returning from the South on request from President Washington, to join his staff.

"Mr. Laurens, come in." The low sound of General- no, President Washington echoed across the room of esteemed men sitting around the table, Hamilton at Washington's right. John's hands shook slightly as he opened the door, posture stiff.

"Mr. President, thank you for inviting me. It is an honor to be able to serve you." John looked straight ahead at Washington, carefully avoiding those dark blue eyes he was all too familiar with.

OR - A Laurens survives fic that no one asked for

[soxsisindeviltown]

Father: and after drinking a lot I want to be able to have our arms around each other helping each other stand up walking out of the place

Me: Like Alexander Hamilton and John Laurens?

Dad: Without the closet f***ing

Me: WHAT-

[suriantei]

me when i remember John Laurens could speak Spanish

i know we don’t know how fluent he was but gimme some more multilingual laurens fics

I want him to swear at rich people in Greek or something and them being all confused about why some rich white boy is yelling at them in (one of) the most rich white boy way