I got this from @/awesome-wow-imagines on tumblr
*Philip Hamilton x Reader
*Modern
*Word count: 2121
Summary: You somehow find a diary/journal of your old self and read through the contents of how you met your soulmate centuries ago.
Warnings: EXTREME FLUFF (idk someone might not like that???)
~~~
"Nana, why do I have to go clean out your attic? Why can't Liam do it?" You groaned, mentioning your brother as you climbed up the old stairs that led to your grandmother's attic. "Because dear," she called out, watching you climb up the stairs, "there may be some treasures up there that you might like."
You looked down at her with furrowed brows, pursing your lips in question at her statement. She simply shrugged and wandered off, muttering something about making cookies for Liam and your grandfather.
Sighing, you opened the wooden door and pushed yourself up, letting out a low grunt as you did so. "I really need to start working out again," you muttered, shaking your head as you looked around the old attic. The attic contained boxes upon boxes that probably contained items that hadn't been used for years, along with piles of dust everywhere.
Running a hand through your hair, you nibbled on your bottom lip, not exactly sure where to start. "What on earth did nana think I'd find up here that I would love so much?" You wondered outloud to yourself, "all I see is boxes full of useless junk."
"Stop complaining, Y/n." You lectured, "nana sent you up here for a reason, obviously."
When you finally decided to get to work, you grabbed the first box you saw, setting it down gently and opening the old box, coughing as dust flew everywhere, waving your hand in the air to blow it away. "Okay," you breathed, beginning to rummage through the box and finding nothing of importance.
This continued for over an hour and you were to head back downstairs to complain to your grandmother, when something in the box you were currently looking through caught your eye. A black leather journal that looked like it was going to fall apart any minute now.
You slowly reached down to grab it, gently picking it up in fear that it would break if you tried to do anything else with it. Once you opened to a random page, your eyes narrowed as you recognized the familiar handwriting. It looked like your handwriting.
February third, 1795.
Dear diary,
Today me and my parents went to the Hamilton estate, something about me meeting my betrothed, which makes me uncomfortable at the mere thought of being forced to marry someone I didn't love, especially if he wasn't my soulmate. But, what can I do? I'm just a child, and a woman at that, I didn't get any say in the matter at all. Mother didn't look too happy either, muttering the entire way there about how "I shouldn't be forced to live through what she did." Whereas father was claiming it'd be good for both of our families if I married young Philip Hamilton when we were both eighteen years of age. I have indeed heard of the Hamilton's before, but I have never met them. Mr. Hamilton was known for his over-the-top personality whereas Mrs. Hamilton was known for her soft and sweet nature. I knew nothing of Philip Hamilton, though. I do hope he is as great as my father says he is. We have arrived at their estate, I'll update you later.
Sincerely,
Y/n Y/l/n
Your eyes widened, nibbling on your bottom lip as you reread the journal entry over and over again. What made you more suspicious was that this girl had the same name as you. You somehow found yourself wanting to know what happened next, so you kept on reading:
