Ready For The Next Update 😼

Will you be making a pt 2 for high and dry ?

Yes it is in the works rn 🫶🫶

Ok SO I need y’all’s opinion (like the two people that will see this)

If you read my last fic, could you PLEASSEEEE give me some feedback or constructive criticism on how to improve my writing?

Like even if it’s just things you wished you saw more of (for example: longer dialogue, longer chapters, more personality for reader/characters, stronger storyline etc.) anything would help!!

If you wanna put it in the comments or dm me that would be very much appreciated 🫶

I loev high and dry bc I have problems with my mom so it’s like “guys this is so me” I say as I bury myself in a hole and cry to Radiohead. I LOVE YOUUU WRITER!! MWAHHHH!!

no bc I have literally NO problems w my mom at all, me n her are super close so idk why I chose this to be the lore 😭😭 anyway crying to Radiohead is so real 😜 LOVE U 💋💋💋

oh em gee it’s Friday, HOW WAS UR AP TESTED YO

actually really good, I think I got a 5 but I’ll update y’all when scores come out 😝

insanely real

the dread i feel each time i remember i won’t ever in the peak of the hamilton fandom when the obc was still touring and fandom culture was at its peak peak like you guys are SO lucky that era looks so much fun and each time i see an obc backstage video i simply can not watch like it brings me horrid nostalgia cause i wasn’t able to participate

lord what I’d give to be in the hamilton fandom in 2016-2018

Hey, roomie! ch. 5

thomas j. x reader

wc: like 2.8k I think

warnings: swearing yada yada the usual

You confront Thomas after he ignores you for the millionth time.

It has been four days with Thomas upset. It was starting to become worrisome.

You did what Peggy advised: give him space. You’ve given him tons of time to think, and he’s still failed to have a full conversation with you. It was starting to become childish. But you figured that he’d come around eventually and things would go back to normal, so you’d play the waiting game if necessary. It was hard when he was always gone though. When he’d left for work on Monday, he didn’t come back until the late hours of the night when all was quiet.

Even on Sunday, he was gone most of the day. Sometimes he would pop in but majority was spent god-knows-where doing god-knows-what.

On the fourth day, you noted he started speaking to you more. He wouldn’t avoid you and rush out of the room anytime you entered. He sat with you at dinner and breakfast (typing frantically on his phone, but still there nonetheless). He left some coffee in the pot for you after he brewed himself some. Progress was being made.

Although you wondered why. Why did you care so much if he was happy with you or not? The thought plagued your mind and you found that every time you looked at him, you wondered what things would be like if he was happy with you. You wondered what you’d be talking about, what new adventure you’d go on, what petty argument would be sparked that ultimately wouldn’t matter, because it’d be over some stupid shit like ‘who has to do the dishes?’ Or ‘which shitty childhood film was the best?’ (The answer is shark boy and lava girl, by the way.)

Instead, you had to wonder what he was thinking about. What his twisted look of confusion, angst, grief, sorrow, and guilt muddled into one means. Pondering what the occasional brush of fingertips meant to him, and if it sent his heart racing as fast as it did yours.

At times, you would catch him staring at you. He would quickly snap his eyes back to whatever was at hand, and pretend like he didn’t get detected. It started getting on your nerves, and you found yourself growing angry every time he’d act like you weren’t there.

It got to a point where you were in the kitchen, cooking mac and cheese because you know it’s his favorite (not that you keep track of what he likes or anything) when he entered and barely acknowledged you. He looked at the pot of mac, nodded to himself, then sat at the table on his phone. By that point you were about to boil over with frustration.

“When is this little game gonna stop?” You snapped.

Thomas peered up at you with furrowed brows. He opened his mouth to speak, but you kept talking before he got the chance to.

“I mean it’s been what, four days? It’s immature. Whatever problem you have, just fucking talk to me instead of ignoring me.”

“Can I speak?” He gives you a pointed look and you glare at him before nodding slightly. “Great. I don’t have a problem with you or anythin’, I’m just tryin’ to work out my own feelings before I talk to you.” He explains calmly, but his tone held impatience and annoyance.

“What feelings? Jealousy because I’m close friends with Lafayette?” You scoff. His eyes widen and he sits up straighter.

“There’s nothing to be jealous of, sugar,” he laughs bitterly. “You can do whatever the hell you want, I’m not your dad.”

“So then why have you been avoiding me?”

“Like I said,” his jaw twitches, “I’m trying to figure out myself first.” Liar. Liar liar liar LIAR!

“And that doesn’t allow you to be able to have an adult conversation with me?” You retort. He sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yet you call this an adult conversation…” He mutters just loud enough for you to hear. You roll your eyes.

“I’m trying to confront the problem. Face it, fix it, and make it better.” You cross your arms, grating your teeth.

“Is this really makin’ it better? I mean, c’mon, you confront me out of the blue and keep attackin’ me, then expect me to do all the work in makin’ up!”

You let your arms fall to your side, shoulders slumping and a guilty feeling gnawing at your stomach. For once, you couldn’t think of anything to say back. He was completely right, you started attacking him then wouldn’t let him speak, and you were being a giant hypocrite. You stare at him, his rant processing in your head. When you finally could speak, the first two words that came from your mouth just happened. You didn’t think, you just said.

“I’m sorry.”

Now it’s his turn to stare at you. His jaw is hung slightly ajar as he studies your face for any dishonesty. Then, he sighs—softer this time, less aggravated and more relaxed. There was an excruciatingly long period of silence, of him processing your words and working out his next move. He could either A) choose to forgive you or B) decide to keep the argument going. It’s in his hands now, and there wasn't much you could do other than hope.

By the time he replied, the anger inside of you calmed, but you were still full of questions, and unsaid arguments running rampant through your brain.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry for ignorin’ you, I didn’t know it truly bothered you,” he admits, standing up. “Hug it out?” A cheeky grin spreads on his face.

“Hell no, words are enough,” you laugh. You knew it wouldn’t be completely normal, not for a little while longer, but this came as a relief. It felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. You hated fighting with people and walking around knowing someone is pissed at you, so it was nice knowing this feud was finally done.

“C’mon, we gotta hug it out.” He walks closer, his arms open wide as he approaches you.

“No we don’t—oh, you’re doing it anyway okay.” He engulfs you in a bone-crushing hug. The scent of his cologne overwhelmed you, and every pat on your back made your stomach flutter.

“‘M not letting go ‘til you hug back,” he murmurs in your ear. You sigh, allowing yourself to melt into his embrace and wrap your arms around him. You stayed like that for a good five seconds; you were so close your heartbeats synchronized. For some reason, his warmth made you feel safe. Comfortable.

He pulles off, a wide smile on his face, and a look in his eyes you haven’t seen. “That wasn't so hard, was it?” He whispers, his voice gentle.

“Do you have to be an asshole with everything you say?” You joked. He rolled his eyes playfully, the smile never faltering on his face.

“Whatever. You love me. If you didn’t you wouldn’t have made mac ‘n cheese, which I am really looking forward to, by the way.” He beams, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I made mac ‘n cheese because I wanted mac ‘n cheese,” you lie. He saw right through it.

—

“This is the best goddamn mac I’ve ever had,” Thomas exclaims, his mouth still full of food after his first bite. A shy smile creeps on your face.

“Thanks, it’s Tini’s recipe,” you admit. You’re just glad the way your heartbeat sped up from his compliment wasn’t visible.

He scarfed down his first place and went back for seconds, completely ignoring any vegetables you made on the side to balance it out. Man had only one thought in mind and it was pasta.

“If you don’t slow down, you’re going to choke.” You set your fork down in concern, watching him shove as much sustenance in his mouth as possible.

“Hmf—ha’s wha she saih,” he giggled.

You shook your head but you couldn’t deny the grin that fell upon your lips after hearing his shitty joke. It felt a little weird laughing with him so naturally when not two hours ago you would bicker. The switch left you wondering if he was growing tired of fighting. If he longed for talking to you like how you had grown to miss his presence.

The subject bothered you so much, you didn’t wait for him to stop chewing before you asked the question burning in your head.

“Why did you react that way when your friends were over?” You blurt, impatience evident in your voice.

He pauses, swallows his food, and thinks on the matter.

“I was just tired.” He says stiffly. You didn’t think his bullshit excuse was true, but you decided not to push it. For now.

“Hm. Alright.” You stand abruptly to rinse your plate and set it in the dishwasher. He joins you shortly after, a thick silence falling over you.

You knew there was something deeper to his attitude these past days. There had to be. No one just ignores someone for five days because “they were tired.” Part of you wondered if Peggy was right. Did he get jealous because you were play-fighting with Laf? Although what he said earlier was true, much as you hate to admit it. There’s no reason for him to be jealous. There is nothing between you and Thomas, and there is nothing between you and Lafayette.

And there never will be. It is what it is.

You glance at him, studying his features. He was focused on the dish in his large, strong hands that could easily pick you up and pin you down—wait. What was that last thought?

You swallowed, regretfully tearing your eyes away from him. A sudden wave of nausea washed over you, causing you to stumble to the couch to sit down. Or was it being flustered? The line was blurred.

“You alright? You look a little queasy,” he frowns, joining next to you.

“Yeah, I just ate too much, I guess.” You shrugged it off, trying to ignore how the way his leg brushing against yours sent electricity through your entire body. He didn’t seem to notice, and if he did, it didn’t bother him.

“Alright…Wanna watch a movie?” He narrows his eyes at you momentarily before straightening up, then holding the remote up as an offer.

“Sure. Your pick.” You nod and shift to get comfortable. He grabs the blanket that sat next to him and drapes it over the two of you. The couch was small enough to where you almost sat shoulder to shoulder, and the blanket was comically large.

About halfway through Interstellar, you started feeling a little drowsy. Your blinking slowed and your head suddenly weighed like a ton of bricks. Another 40 minutes or so goes by and the voice of Matthew McConaughey droned on and on, blurring into what sounded like the perfect environment for sleep. You fought to keep your head upright, but alas, Thomas’s shoulder seemed like the perfect pillow to lie your head on. Only for a minute, you told yourself. It was the last thought you had before you were lulled into sleep.

You weren’t awake to watch Thomas’s reaction. His features softened, he stayed dead still, and turned down the TV so you could sleep better. His chivalry would’ve made your cheeks flush had you been present to witness it.

—

“The wedding is only a week away! I’m so excited!” Eliza exclaimed.

She was referring to her courtship with Alexander, of course, as they had been seeing each other for more than four years. He had finally popped the question about six months ago, and Eliza merrily accepted him with tears in her eyes.

You were extremely happy for your friend; she was to be a wife in only one week. For most, this tradition is considered the happiest day of their lives. You weren’t sure if you’d ever get married, no, not with your luck around guys. But at least you could support Eliza and Alex.

They were perfect for each other, too. She was just as witty as he, if not more, and both were extremely intelligent. Alex had the penmanship of a poet and Eliza lived in books. It was truly a sight to see them together; neither could stop sneaking glances at the other then smiling, a fierce blush adorning both of their faces

You saw firsthand how he became enamored with her, how he wooed her by sending flowers with letters attached to it. It seemed that any time you spoke to Eliza before they started dating, she always mentioned how sweet Alex was and the latest thing he did to charm her. Typical talk of someone in love, always speaking of their interest.

When she asked you to be one of her bridesmaids, you were ecstatic. Angelica was the only other person to ask you to hold such a title, and that was an honor to you. Of course you said yes, and she went on about her ideas of the wedding.

Eliza wasn't much for “girly” things like that. She had always been the bookworm of the sisters; the one that picked up on studies the easiest and advocated for what she thought right. So it came as a shock when she ranted about her dream wedding, and she was thankful Alex let her do most of the planning.

She just seemed to light up whenever chatting about Alex or the wedding. She went on about how perfect it was when he proposed, and she’s extremely grateful he was able to win over her parents. The Schuyler family only accepts the best of the best into their circle, and Alex wasn't exactly someone that should even go near the Schuylers. Hamilton was a poor, orphan, immigrant who barely had his own name, let alone anything to it. The Schuylers were notorious for their wealth and social status, with Philip Schuyler being a senator for New York.

“You never did tell me what dances I’m supposed to learn,” you say.

“Oh! Right, well there’s going to be a slow-waltz,” she starts. For the next few minutes, she goes into detail about what dances there will be and how it will operate. You, being a bridesmaid, will dance with the groomsmen for a couple waltz’s to please her parents. They were quite traditional after all.

You visualized how it would go: you’d ask either Laurens or Mulligan to dance (Lafayette is completely off the table since he is absolutely hopeless, you’ve seen how he acted at Angelica’s wedding), and then…shit. How do you dance?

You should be able to slow dance from Angelica’s wedding, but upon remembering, you were too drunk to truly dance. You kinda just swung around with Lafayette and laughed every time he stepped on your feet.

Well. This would be a problem. Put learning how to dance on your to-do list for the week.

“Oh god, you don’t know how to dance, do you?” Eliza asked, a worried look on her face. She was very observant, she must’ve noticed the way your face contorted into discomfort after she described the slow dancing.

“Not…really, no.” You give her a sheepish smile.

“Do you think you could get anyone to teach you?” She asked.

You pondered for a moment. How many people do you know would be willing to teach you to dance, and dance well? You know one who absolutely can’t; you know Alex can dance but he’s the groom. You’re not entirely sure how good Hercules or John would be at that type of stuff, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to ask them. Peggy and Angelica could, but they’d likely be too busy to give you lessons. It won’t hurt to ask but you can predict what the answer will be.

That left one person you are in close proximity with.

“I bet Jefferson wouldn’t mind,” Angelica wiggled her eyebrows. He had just entered the living room from the kitchen, and must’ve been eavesdropping on the conversation.

“Can’t you do it?” You whined. She formed her mouth into an awkward line.

“Busy. My husband and I are gonna be out of town for the next couple days, but we’ll be back in time for the wedding.” She shrugged. You huffed, rolling your eyes at her predictable answer.

“What about Peggy?”

“What about me?” Peggy popped her head in.

“If you could teach me to dance,” you pleaded. She stared at you blankly, glanced at Angelica for a prolonged period of time, then smiled devilishly at you.

“I can’t. Ask Thomas to teach you. You live with the guy.” She teased. “Besides, didn’t you say you’re good now?”

“Well…yeah, but that doesn’t mean I want to dance with him,” you squirm uncomfortably. The sisters share a look as if to say bullshit detected. “What?”

“Didn’t you say you fell asleep on his shoulder last night?” Peggy gave you a pointed look.

You paused, opening your mouth for some quick quip, but nothing came out. Instead you flushed with embarrassment and huffed in annoyance. It was true that you fell asleep on the man you claimed to despise. Even if he was maybe—but only a little tiny bit—growing on you. When you woke up that morning, you were in your bed, a blanket neatly draped over you. When you greeted him at breakfast, there was a twinkle of amusement and mischief in his eyes.

“You’re seriously gonna make me ask him?” You crossed your arms and glared at all three of them. They weren’t fazed.

“You might as well. It’s not like it could hurt you or anything,” Eliza shrugged. Easy for her to say, when she danced with Alex for the first time it was ‘the most magical experience of her life.’

“I hate you guys so much,” you sighed. They laughed and Peggy patted you on the back.

“Oh, cheer up, it won’t be that bad. Maybe it’ll be good for your…relationship.”

“I dunno if relationship is the right word…”

Not my usual posts but i felt pretty proud of this one 😝😝

Also for anyone wondering — I’m working on another ch. of high and dry but it might be a week or two before it’s out !! tyyy

High and Dry | ch. 1

t. jefferson x reader

Warnings: swearing, chronic overuse of italics

Wc: 3.2k

When starting your fourth year of teaching at a new high school, you come face to face with your old friend-turned-enemy: Thomas Jefferson. To make it worse, he’s the other English teacher you’re supposed to work with the whole year.

A/N: the rewritten version of High and Dry And this time I actually have a plan and thought out characters!!! Enjoy lovelies 💕

There’s a certain feeling that comes with a new school year.

Especially when starting your first year as the newest English One teacher to grace Hudson High School. Those distinct, back-to-school jitters that come with the anticipation of a new year were hitting you.

Students shop for new clothes, new notebooks, new backpacks, everything new. Teachers and administrators prepare classrooms, getting everything set up to welcome the newest generation of Freshmen, as well as new staff.

You were one of those newbies. And god, what a feeling of not knowing anyone and having to spend every day here. There’s a thrill that comes with it, something words couldn’t explain.

When you interviewed for the position, George Washington intimidated the fuck out of you. Upon talking to him, he turned out to be a genuine, humble man, but scarily confident. He was the first face you happened to bump into upon entering the school for the first required day over the summer. There were three days before school officially started, and you procrastinated getting your classroom set up and introducing yourself to coworkers.

Next to Washington stood a smaller man. One that had a feistier look to him. There was a stark contrast between the two; Washington was nearly a foot taller than the younger guy, and held himself so calmly while the other was borderline ADHD.

“Ah, Miss L/n. We were just talking about you,” Principal Washington smiled, shaking your hand. He turned to the other man, “this is the new freshman English teacher.”

The young teacher’s eyes lit up, and he grinned widely, sticking his hand out for you to shake. “Alexander Hamilton. Pleasure to meet you,” he introduced.

You nodded, smiling out of politeness and shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you. Would you happen to know which way the G hallway is?”

“I’ll show you. I’m in the same hallway, y’know, with it being the English hall obviously,” he chuckled, ushering you to follow him. You gave Washington a nod in acknowledgment before embarking on the journey to the English Hall.

“Are you the other English one teacher?” You asked, falling into step with the man.

He let out a loud, bitter laugh. “God, no. I teach English four.” He led you upstairs. “The other freshman English is way worse than I.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. He seemed to have noticed the falter in your steps, because he backtracked to reassure you.

“I’m sorry, that came off a little strong. I’ve had some minor…quarrels with Jefferson in the past. But don’t let that scare you, I’m sure you’ll get along fine.” He waved his hands around, then quietly added on, “If you like arrogant, intransigent assholes.”

Jefferson. That name struck so many bad memories. A chill ran up your spine, and you had to reassure yourself that Jefferson was a common last name. Besides, the one you had known was in France last time you checked.

“You describe him so nicely. I’m looking forward to working with Mr. Jefferson,” you smiled, voice laced with sarcasm. Hamilton laughed, sending an amused grin your way.

“You’ll be okay. It’s only me he truly fights with.” Hamilton shrugged. “Enough about me. Tell me about yourself, Miss L/n.”

You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips. “You can just call me Y/n. And here I was, thinking I was saved from small talk.”

“If you’d prefer to talk about my hatred for your new coworker, or rather listen to me talk about it, it’s always on the table,” he offered. Something about it was so lighthearted. He was really easy to be around, to talk to. “No, but seriously. What got you into teaching?”

“Well, teaching just kind of clicked with me. I subbed once during college, and I loved the atmosphere. I love the idea of helping people grow into who they’re meant to be, giving every student a chance at success. Granted, some of the kids are frustrating, but when handled correctly, they aren’t bad at all. You just have to understand where they come from.” You explained, examining the postures of books strung up on the wall.

You must’ve made it to the English hallway, because where else would there be a giant quote from The Outsiders painted on the wall?

“I understand that completely. It’s so rewarding, watching the younger generations find their passions. Getting to play a part in every individual’s success,” he grinned, showing you to the doorway of a soulless room. “Here we are. Home sweet home.”

You flicked the lights on, scanning the bare white walls. It looked like an asylum, and hell, it felt like one too.

“It looks like Jefferson isn’t here right now,” Alex said, poking his head into the room next door. “You got lucky. For now.”

You chuckled, peeking into Jefferson’s room. The lights were on, so he was around somewhere, but there was no way of knowing where. He had a cozy little setup. Lights were strung on the ceiling, there were multiple posters littered around the room referencing pop culture, a bookshelf was stashed in the corner, and his desk was home to trinkets and useless objects. On the wall next to his desk, there were pages, drawings, and letters from past students thanking him for being such a good teacher. That gave you some hope. Maybe Alexander Hamilton was dramatic, maybe Jefferson wouldn’t be so bad.

“Anyway, I’ll let you get set up. My room is just down the hall, G224, if you ever need anything.” He said, and with that, he disappeared.

—

After making about a million trips to your car and back, bringing in all the decorations, books, and supplies you needed, you could finally start setting up your classroom.

Normally, you would’ve complained about having to make so many trips, but it allowed you to navigate the layout of the place. Hudson High was by far the largest school you’ve ever worked at. And with no connections to it or anyone else, it was a fresh start, a clean slate to make good memories. On your final trip, you glanced into Jefferson’s room again to catch a glimpse of the man you would be spending the rest of the school year with, but he wasn’t there.

You could, however, outdo him in his decorating skills.

It wasn’t like you wanted to make him look bad or anything, you just wanted to show out. Make your presence known, and in the process build the best English classroom anyone has ever seen.

An hour-and-a-half of uninterrupted work was all it took for it to be fully set up. You had fairy lights and warm lamps to replace the fluorescent school lighting, a beanbag in the corner, a bookshelf twice the size of his, organized by color because it was prettier that way (despite all the hate you get for it), and succulents on the windowsill. All that was left was your desk.

Before you could begin, the distinct chime of the announcements rang, disrupting your flow.

“All staff please report to the library for a mandatory opening meeting.”

Groaning, you wiped the sweat beading on your forehead, and trekked to the library. Since you hadn’t been anywhere else in this school other than your classroom, you followed behind other staff members for guidance.

When you arrived, Hamilton called your name, waving you over. You grinned and joined him in the back. He was already sitting with a few other people—two having their hair tied into a man bun, and one wearing a blue beanie.

“Who is this belle femme?” A French accent spoke, the man leaning forward on his hands.

“This is Y/n L/n,” Alex introduced you to the group. You gave a shy smile and waved. “Y/n, this is John Laurens, Hercules Mulligan, and—“

“I am Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette,” the same Frenchman took your hand, planting a charming kiss on it. “But you may call me Lafayette.”

You raised a surprised eyebrow, not at all impressed by his attempt at flattery. The idea of France spiked feelings you didn’t want to think about. Mostly related to your oh-so-fun high school experience, or lack thereof.

“Or call him Marie like we all do,” Mulligan laughed, shoving Lafayette's shoulder. Lafayette—or Marie?—shot him a glare, grumbling something under his breath.

“Ignore him,” Alex snorted, rolling his eyes. “He just got broken up with again, even though we all know they’ll be back together within a week.”

“‘Ey! She said it was serious this time,” Lafayette pouted.

“Sure,” Alex turned to you, lowering his voice, “she said the same thing last time. Don’t be fooled.”

You giggled, eyes lighting up in amusement at the antics of the table. You haven’t been around friends this close in a long, long time. It was almost uncomfortable; you didn’t know what to do, where to put your hands, or if you should speak more. Being a pretty quiet person by nature, it wasn't hard for you to stay quiet and observe. Your eyes shifted to the only person who hadn’t spoken yet—Laurens.

He was sitting closest to Hamilton, slumped in his seat so their shoulders were nearly touching.

“How’s the classroom coming along?” Alex asked, breaking you from your thoughts.

Sitting up straighter, you forced a smile, “pretty good. Haven’t met this Jefferson character yet, so I’m a little anxious.”

“Wait, she hasn’t met Jefferson?” Laurens spoke, eyebrows raised high as he glanced from you to Alexander.

“He wasn’t there when I showed her to her room,” he shrugged. “Guess he hasn’t been around yet.”

A wild, almost sarcastic smirk formed on John’s face. “Well, you’re in for a treat.”

“Oh, c’mon guys, he is not ‘zat bad,” Lafayette jumped in.

“You only say that because he speaks French, too,” Hercules scoffed.

Laf frowned. “Not true. He’s a great friend if you just give ‘im a chance. Hamilton and John speak French, too, but I’m not friends with them just for ‘zat.”

At this point, you didn’t know who to believe. Everyone had told you one thing, then Lafayette entered and now he was telling you another. So was Jefferson an asshole or not? They bickered back and forth on the subject, and at some point it turned into an argument about unrelated topics. You absorbed the conversation, trying to get a feel for what having a normal friend group could be like, envisioning yourself having this kind of dynamic with them. As long as you don’t fuck it up somehow, maybe they’ll accept you as their own.

Alex and John seemed used to it, as they started asking you questions about yourself. Where are you from, where did you used to teach, how are you liking Hudson so far, how’s your relationship with your mom…the works. Well, they didn’t ask the last one.

“You’re much better than Lee,” John commented. “He was a pain.”

“Lee?” You questioned.

“Oh, yeah. He was the English teacher before you, but he quit after a…debate.” He grinned, clearly proud about something. You furrowed your eyebrows, cocking your head to the side in confusion.

“He got into a fight with him because he was denouncing Washington’s name,” Alex chimed in. You couldn’t control the slight widening of your eyes. He had a physical altercation with someone over some words?

“Men never fail to surprise me…” you muttered.

“In my defense, we gave him multiple warnings. But he didn’t listen. And look where that got him?”

“A new job at a different school, I suppose,” Alex smirked, “and a trip to the hospital.”

They shared a laugh, and you couldn’t help the sick twisting of your stomach. Were they seriously bragging about putting a man in the hospital? That should’ve been the first red flag. They sensed your discomfort, calming down and putting a reassuring hand on your shoulder. You tensed at his touch.

“Relax. He was okay. He also started it, too, if that says anything.” Alex said, voice softer than before.

“I promise I won’t fight you,” Laurens joked half-heartedly. A smile cracked on your face, relaxing your shoulders.

“How did you not get fired?” You asked. Hamilton's hand fell back to his lap.

John shrugged. “I got really close to it. Hamilton here is particularly close with Washington, and has a way with words. He vouched for my innocence.”

You hummed, watching Alex flash a toothy, prideful grin. “Good to know.”

“If I could have everyone’s attention, please!” Washington’s voice boomed over the light chatter of the library, effectively silencing everyone. You straightened in your chair and faced forward, glancing from him to the backs of people's heads.

“First and foremost, welcome back everyone! And welcome new teachers. I hope everyone had a great summer break, and this new year is going to be very promising for all. Now, for a brief overview of school policy—“ you only halfway listened from there. All he talked about was basic laws and regulations teachers are required to take, as well as mentioning drills that would be practiced during the first couple months.

Your eyes scanned the crowd of educators. A head of thick, dark curly hair caught your eye. Somewhere at the front, a man wearing a magenta polo sat, his broad shoulders and arms filling out the shirt nicely. You leaned forward in interest, heart fluttering when he turned and you caught a snippet of his nose, as well as a stubble. ‘Please let him be Jefferson. And please let him be hot.’

As quick as the meeting started, it was over. The whole time, your eyes were trained on the man in the magenta polo, silently praying he was the Jefferson you would have to work with all year.

Hamilton nudged you, signaling it was over. You stood and followed the group out, searching for the magenta-polo guy, but he was already gone. Hamilton suggested that you see where the other guys’ classrooms were, so if you needed anything, you knew where to go. It would’ve been rude to say no, so you didn’t protest, and followed them blindly around the premise.

Lafayette was the French teacher and coached track, so he was downstairs in the foreign language hallway. His room was very colorful, very him.

Mulligan was the art teacher and boys’ wrestling coach. Out of everything you expected him to teach, art was not it. Wrestling fit him, but imagining him painting was a curveball.

Laurens taught U.S. government and coached football. His room was filled with posters of both famous football players and different political systems. Having Tom Brady and facism on the same wall was wild, but hey, if that’s what he’s into.

After touring (some) of the campus, Hamilton walked back to the hallway you were beginning to familiarize yourself with, and offered a glimpse into his class.

And wow, he outdid himself.

“Jesus—how long did it take for you to put all this up?” You asked, staring at the tapestries and rows of books that he had. He stood, pride swelling in his chest as he watched you examine the room in awe.

“A while. Don’t worry about it,” he winked. “You’ll get to my level one day.”

You scoffed, shooting him a playful glare. “Okay, I get it. You win the best Pinterest room award; congratulations.”

“Why, thank you,” he bowed dramatically. A grin spread on both your faces, and your heart was giddy with the excitement that comes with making a new friend. Let him last, please.

“I have to finish setting up my desk. But thank you for introducing me to your friends. They were very…”

“Obnoxious?” He interjected. You shook your head, a fondness evident in your voice when you spoke.

“Endearing. I like them,” you finished.

There was a pause in the conversation, and his eyes lingered on you. “I’m glad they didn’t scare you off. You’re always welcome to hang out with us, by the way.”

“Thank you,” you took some steps towards the door—which had a large poster that read ‘BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU’ as well as a pair of eyes drawn to stare into your soul. Ah, the genius that is 1984. “I have to finish setting up my desk. I’ll see you around?”

“See you around.” He confirmed.

On the short walk to your own cell, you stopped to peek into Jefferson’s room, expecting him not to be in there. But surprise surprise! The man, the myth, the legend you’ve heard so many negative things about was in there, hunched over and writing something down.

And to make it better, it was magenta-polo guy.

Your heart fluttered in excitement, and you stepped in. “You must be the infamous Jefferson I’ve heard so much about.”

“That would be me,” he spoke. Even his voice was hot. It was mature, husky, and—familiar. Way too familiar.

He looked up, and your smile instantly dropped. Stomach dropped. Face paled. Time stopped. Everything seemed to have frozen in place, including him, because he stood there, eyes wide with recognition.

“Thomas?” You seethed, taking a defensive step back.

He was seriously who you were ogling? The man who destroyed every friendship you had in high school, the man who broke every ounce of trust you held for him?

“Y/n.” His face twisted to a sour frown. You hated the way your name fell so naturally from his tongue.

“I thought you were in France.” A deep scowl spread overtook your face. He seemed to have reciprocated the same bitter expression.

“I was. Then I came back,” he growled. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

“Believe me, I’m not exactly thrilled about this either.” You barked out a bitter laugh. He scoffed, shifting his weight so he was crossing his arms.

“Don’t be childish. We can move on from the past, y’know.”

“After you ruined my social life? No thanks,” you retorted. He let out an exhausted groan, dragging a hand over his face.

“We both know there’s more to it than that.” He walked around from behind his desk, taking some steps towards you.

“What? I was ‘jealous’ of you? Is that it?” You snapped, narrowing your eyes. All the rage you built up was manifesting in this very moment. Everything you’ve ever wanted to say to him, you could. Tell him how he was a shitty friend for leaving you, for hurting you the way he did.

“Because you ruined my chance at a scholarship!” He hissed.

“I didn’t ruin shit! You act like I sabotaged your entire fucking career! It was junior year, for crying out loud!” You threw your hands up, pacing around his classroom.

He inhaled sharply, clenching his jaw. The way his demeanor changed from rash and sharp to ice cold horrified you, stopping you dead in your tracks. Thomas took a small, but powerful step closer, causing you to shift back one in response.

“Y/n,” he started, staring down at you with so much calmed rage that you almost started trembling. “Let’s end this conversation here. You can see yourself out.”

Wordlessly, your nostrils flared and you stepped out of his classroom. He shut the door behind you. Disbelief, rage, hatred, resentment coursed through your veins. Thomas Jefferson, the man who abandoned you during a dark time, the man who borderline bullied you during your lowest point, and the man you once considered your ride or die was supposed to be the man you had to work with the rest of the year.

So much for a fresh start.

When are you gonna do a night to remember? I love that fic😭😭

It was on my mind this week but I want to get another chapter of high and dry out before I work on anything for ANTR 🫶 and tysm that means a lot💕

Your skibidi.

You’re*

Thanks sigma 😛😛