#we were supposed to make the first letter of our first name for this assignment

[thollandsgirl2013]

How are you doing ? I was an idea for a series or one-shot for a Peter Parker x fem Stark reader. For a PDHPE assessment at Midtown High School, students are paired up with "fake" relationships assigned to them, with the intention of simulating real-life scenarios—however, one unsuspecting couple which is Peter and Y/n unexpectedly develops genuine feelings for each other, blurring the lines between what was supposed to be a mere exercise.

Hi! So, I’ll be honest, I had no idea what a PDHPE assessment was at first 😅 and had to do a little digging. Once I realized it was more of a fantasy-style prompt, it actually fit really well with a Stark!Reader storyline. Hope it’s close to what you imagined, and that you enjoyed watching Peter Parker fall head over heels for his assignment partner💙✨

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𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞… 𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭?

Parings → Peter Parker x Stark! Reader

Warnings → Fake dating, Friends to lovers, Fluff, Humor, Stark Sarcasm, Protective Tony, Flash being Flash, Mild language, PDA.

Summary → What started as a fake dating project turns real fast.

(gif not mine)

You were already halfway checked out the moment your PDHPE teacher, Ms. Calder, wrote “Relationship Simulation Project” across the whiteboard in big Pink letters.

You blinked at it.

Peter, two rows over, tilted his head like a confused golden retriever.

And Flash whispered (loudly), “Is she seriously making us fake date? This is not what I signed up for when I chose PE over Drama.”

You leaned over to MJ, eyebrow raised. “What the hell kinda Black dimension lesson plan is this?”

Ms. Calder clapped her hands for attention like a chaotic game show host.

“Okay, class! So to explore interpersonal communication, compromise, and emotional regulation, you'll be paired up to simulate a romantic relationship for one week. Each pair will complete a daily journal, a conflict resolution worksheet, and plan a 'mock date' together. This is for assessment, people.”

A few groans echoed around the room. Peter Parker turned an impossible shade of red.

You muttered, “If I wanted forced intimacy, I’d go to another Stark family therapy session.”

“Names are being randomly chosen,” Ms. Calder went on. “No swaps, no trades, no take-backs. This is about working with people outside your comfort zone. Growth, people.”

You rolled your eyes. “Growth can kiss my a—”

“—nd our first pair is…” She glanced at her tablet. “Peter Parker and Y/N Stark.”

The silence was so loud you could hear the metaphorical record scratch.

You blinked once. Then twice.

Peter looked like he had stopped breathing. Fully frozen. His pen dropped out of his hand and rolled off the desk with a dramatic little clatter.

MJ snorted quietly beside you.

“Oh my God,” you said under your breath. “I’m going to fake date a human golden retriever.”

She elbowed you. “Didn’t you say you haven’t seen him since that mission briefing last week where he knocked over two mugs and called you ‘dude’ twice?”

“That was three mugs,” you muttered, “and he also called me ‘sir’ once by accident.”

Meanwhile, Peter was frantically gathering his things to come sit beside you. He bumped into the desk. Then the chair. Then his own knee.

You raised your hand as he awkwardly took the seat next to you.

“Quick question,” you said dryly. “Do I get hazard pay for babysitting a nervous breakdown?”

Ms. Calder smiled like she hadn’t heard you. “Try to treat this seriously, class. Think of it as a way to learn about yourself, and each other.”

You turned to Peter with a half-smirk. “So… boyfriend. Long time no see. Ready to fake love me for a grade?”

He coughed. Choked on his own spit. Literally.

“Y/n! I—uh—hi. Yeah. I mean. Sure. Girlfriend. Wow. Okay. This is fine. I’m fine.”

You leaned back in your chair. “You’re already sweating, Parker. This is gonna be fun.”

Peter just nodded, trying to look casual while dying inside.

You raised an eyebrow. “You're already short-circuiting and we haven't even started. You're lucky I'm used to tech malfunctions.”

Peter let out a laugh that was mostly panic. “Um. Yeah, fake dating. Cool. Fun.”

You tilted your head, amused. “Weird how I’ve seen you literally throw a bus across a street and this is what breaks you.”

He groaned softly. “Please don’t tell Mr. Stark I choked on my own spit when you said ‘boyfriend.’ ”

You smirked. “Depends. You plan on doing anything else embarrassing today?”

Peter looked genuinely concerned. “Should I say yes just to mentally prepare?”

You leaned back in your chair with a shrug. “Honestly? Yeah.”

Oh yeah. This was gonna be chaos.

----------

You told yourself it was still just an assignment.

Even when Peter brought you real flowers to your “mock date.”

Even when his hand lingered way too long during your “communication trust exercise.”

Even when he sent you goodnight texts that said “sleep well, Y/N :)” like it was just for homework.

You were a Stark. You didn’t catch feelings. Feelings caught you and then got yeeted into the sun.

At least, that’s what you told yourself until you were ten minutes into your second fake date, sitting side by side at the local boba place Peter picked, knees touching under the table and you realized:

Peter Parker was kind of… devastatingly sweet.

And kind. And funny. And soft. And awkward. And nervous in a way that was weirdly endearing, like he wanted to impress you but didn’t want you to know he wanted to impress you.

“You don’t have to hold my hand the whole time,” you teased, looking down where his fingers were wrapped gently around yours.

His ears turned bright red. “R-right! Sorry! I just—Ms. Calder said physical affection boosts realism and—uh—I can let go, I wasn’t trying to—”

You smirked and squeezed his hand. “I’m messing with you, Parker. Relax.”

“Oh,” he said, clearly short-circuiting again. “Cool. Haha. Relaxing. I am relaxed.”

He was not relaxed.

You tilted your head and studied him for a moment, your tone softening.

“You’re doing really well, y’know. You’re not half-bad at this fake boyfriend thing.”

His eyes flicked to yours, hopeful. “Really?”

“Yeah.” You smiled, surprised at how much you meant it. “Honestly… I think you’re kind of better than most real ones.”

He blushed so hard he nearly combusted.

---

DAY 4: Texting for the ‘assignment’

Peter: hey so i’m supposed to check in with my fake gf or i fail romantic communication

You: wow. tragic.

Peter: i know. pls answer this or i’ll have to write a poem about my emotional decay

You: ngl i kinda wanna see that

Peter: rude. i’m a sensitive artist.

You: ok ok. i had a good day. fake bf check-in: 8/10. could use more boba.

Peter: noted. fake gf deserves the world (and also extra boba)

You stared at your phone way too long after that one.

---

DAY 5: Jealousy hits like a truck.

You were walking out of class when Flash suddenly appeared like a gremlin summoned by drama.

“Hey Stark,” he grinned, draping an arm over your shoulders. “If this whole fake thing with Parker doesn’t work out, you know where to find me.”

You blinked at him. “The trash?”

Peter was a few steps behind you, arms crossed, clearly trying so hard not to look bothered.

When Flash strutted off, Peter mumbled, “You know, you really don’t have to flirt back just to keep it realistic…”

Your brow furrowed. “What?”

He froze. “N-nothing! I mean, it’s fine, I’m not mad! Or jealous. Or—uh—noticing. You can flirt with whoever. Because we’re fake. Haha. Totally fake.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You good, Webs?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Y-yeah. Totally. Just… don’t date Flash. Even fake-dating Flash would be a crime against humanity.”

You laughed. But something weird and warm fluttered in your chest.

---

Later, you were walking together toward the compound’s garage when he offhandedly said,

“I used to have this thing for Liz, but that feels like… forever ago.”

You nodded casually, but your smile dropped half a centimeter.

Used to. Past tense. Cool. Why did that sting?

“...She’s not you though,” Peter added quickly, without even looking at you.

You stopped walking.

“What?”

He blinked. “What?”

You squinted at him. “Did you just compare me with her?”

Peter turned crimson. “NO I—well—I mean yes? B-but I didn’t mean it like that, I just—I mean you’re—you’re you, and she was—wasn’t.”

You stared at him for a second. “That was maybe the dumbest sentence I’ve ever heard.”

He buried his face in his hands. “I deserve that.”

You smirked. “Yeah. But… thanks. I think? ”

You kept walking, but now your heart was doing that stupid flutter thing and you had to pretend you weren’t smiling like an idiot.

----------

Final day of the project.

You sat in the back row of PDHPE, arms crossed, watching another pair present their “reflection” with forced smiles and robotic delivery. You and Peter were up next.

Your brain was not focused on the assignment. It was spinning with the emotional chaos of the past week, the “practice” holding hands, the late-night texts, the jealousy, the way Peter looked at you like you were the only person on the planet.

Which, rude, because he wasn’t supposed to make you feel like this.

Feelings? For Peter Parker?? That was so not in your schedule.

You cleared your throat. Time to deploy your defense mechanism: Sarcasm, Stark-style.

“You ready, Fake Boyfriend?” You whispered, elbowing him.

Peter looked nervous but smiley. “Only if you’re ready, Fake Girlfriend.”

God, he had the audacity to look at you with those soft brown eyes and mean it.

You rolled your eyes. “Let’s get this cringe-fest over with.”

---

The two of you stood in front of the class. Your slideshow behind you was mostly Peter’s doing, because let’s be honest, you were good at many things, but formatting Google Slides without adding memes of your dad or the Avengers in pajama pants was not one of them.

Peter started off with the basic summary:

“Over the last seven days, we explored different aspects of relationship-building like communication, empathy, and conflict resolution—”

You cut in, deadpan:

“—And somehow didn’t kill each other. A modern miracle.”

Everyone laughed. Peter blushed. You smirked.

Then came the reflection part.

Peter shifted awkwardly. “Um. So. Personally… I learned that sometimes, pretending something is real can accidentally, maybe, kinda… feel real.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You glanced sideways. He wasn’t looking at the class. He was looking right at you.

You blinked and whispered, “Is that in the notes, or are you just going off-script?”

He shrugged, nervous smile tugging at his lips. “Off-script.”

Your heartbeat was not listening to you anymore.

You turned back to the class with a too-casual shrug. “Well. I learned that boys who bring you boba and blush a lot might actually be tolerable.”

More laughter. But your voice cracked a bit, just at the end.

---

After class.

You bolted down the hallway, trying to collect your thoughts, only to hear sneakers skidding behind you.

“Y/N—wait, hey—can we talk for a second?”

You turned, arms folded, doing your best impression of Not A Girl With Feelings.

“About what? Our fake relationship? Or the part where you made it all confusing by being, like… weirdly sweet and real boyfriend-y and—ugh—nice?”

Peter blinked. “You thought I was sweet?”

“Don’t push it.”

He stepped closer, looking a little breathless. “Okay. I know we were supposed to be pretending. But I wasn’t pretending when I said it felt real. Because… it did. You feel real.”

You stared at him. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

He swallowed. “I mean… you’re always sarcastic and you act like nothing phases you. But I see you. You take care of people. You remember the tiny stuff. You roll your eyes, but you never walk away.”

Your wall cracked, just a little. “That’s......dumb. You’re dumb.”

Peter laughed, a little shy. “I know. But I like you anyway.”

You blinked, heartbeat absolutely feral now. “You do?”

“I-I do.”

He stepped a little closer. His voice lowered, nervous and hopeful.

“Can I kiss you? Like… for real?”

You bit your lip. “For the assignment?”

He smiled. “No. For me.”

You hesitated for a breath. Then whispered, “Okay. But just so you know… It's my first kiss but I'll still grade harshly.”

He leaned in. Gentle. Warm. Soft like a secret.

And fireworks. Literal brain static. You barely registered the way your hand reached up and grabbed his hoodie to pull him a little closer, just to be sure this was real.

When you pulled back, both of you were blushing messes.

Peter grinned. “So… real boyfriend now?”

You smirked. “Guess so, Parker. Don’t screw it up.”

-----------

Peter didn’t think the day would end like this.

Standing in the Tower kitchen. Shirt slightly wrinkled. Lips slightly swollen. Heart? Absolutely sprinting.

You were sitting on a stool across the island, trying (and failing) to hide your smirk behind a mug of tea. Because, well… your dad had entered the chat.

And he did not look thrilled.

Tony Stark stood there, arms folded, brows raised in that very I’m not mad, just… disappointed. And maybe preparing to nuke your soul kind of way.

“I thought,” Tony said slowly, “this whole ‘pretend boyfriend’ thing was for an assignment. You know. Educational purposes. Graded participation. Harmless simulation.”

Peter swallowed. “It—uh. It was. Originally. I swear.”

Tony raised one brow like he was about to pull up a PowerPoint labeled LIES.

“So when exactly,” he asked, voice dangerously calm, “did this turn into my daughter shoving her tongue down your throat on my security footage?”

You choked on your tea. Peter looked like he might faint.

“Mr. Stark, I swear, it wasn’t—like—planned, I didn’t mean to—”

“Didn’t mean to what? Fall head-over-webs for Stark Baby #1? Accidentally catch feelings during a state-mandated fake dating project? Grow up, Parker. That’s literally the plot of every romcom ever.”

Peter blinked. “So… you’re not mad?”

“Oh, I’m mad,” Tony said, sipping his espresso. “I’m furious. Because I trusted you to be an awkward little nerd with no game. And here you are. Pulling moves.”

You leaned forward, grinning. “Dad. Chill. It’s not that deep.”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Y/N, sweetheart, I love you. I do. But you have the worst taste. First you had a crush on Draco Malfoy when you were ten, and now this—”

“Draco was misunderstood!” You snapped.

“Yeah, well so is Parker,” Tony said, glaring at him. “Misunderstood until he’s grounded for life.”

Peter looked pale. “Am I grounded?”

“You? ” Tony snorted. “Kid, you’re not even my kid. I can’t ground you. I can just… make your life extremely inconvenient.”

You laughed. “He’s bluffing.”

“I invented bluffing,” Tony said.

Peter raised his hands, sheepish. “Look—I know this is… not ideal. But I like her. A lot. And I promise I’ll never hurt her. I mean that.”

Tony stared at him for a long, quiet moment.

Then he sighed. “Great. Now I gotta threaten a teenager with a vibranium wrench. Happy Tuesday.”

You jumped off the stool and kissed Tony on the cheek. “Love you, Dad.”

“Uh-huh. We’ll see how much when your monthly allowance suddenly evaporates.”

Peter grinned nervously. “Mr. Stark, sir? Please don’t evaporate anything. Especially..... me.”

Tony gave him a long, thoughtful look.

Then—

“Alright. Fine. Just… no funny business under my roof. And if I see you sneaking into her room again, I’m replacing your web-shooters with electric hand belts.”

Peter turned white. “Y-Yes sir.”

You blinked at Tony, all wide-eyed innocence. “Define ‘funny business,’ exactly?”

Tony groaned into his espresso.

-------

Extra: Stark Baby Got A Boyfriend

You weren’t trying to cause a scene. You really weren’t.

But you were also very much not sorry that Peter Parker—newly promoted boyfriend and your favorite fake-to-real love story—was kissing you like the world didn’t exist.

Right in front of your locker.

At 8:02 a.m.

On a Wednesday.

You were the one who pulled him in, hands in his hoodie, heart in your throat.

He stiffened for half a second, then melted. Melted like butter. His hands found your waist, hesitant but warm, and he kissed you back like he’d been waiting his whole life for it.

Your fingers curled into the front of his hoodie as he leaned in, lips warm, kiss a little messy and rushed, like he was still getting used to the whole "dating a Stark" thing.

Which, let’s be honest—he was.

And then:

“UH—EXCUSE ME??”

You both jerked apart.

Cue MJ, coffee in hand, eyes wide like she just saw a UFO.

And Ned, frozen mid-step, mouth open, brain totally buffering.

They stood there like they’d accidentally stumbled onto the craziest scene in the universe.

“You guys are—? Since when are you—??” Ned flailed his arms, “I knew something was up during that mock conflict resolution session!”

MJ pointed dramatically. “You rolled your eyes at him too affectionately. That’s how I knew.”

Peter scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. “It’s… recent?”

“Understatement,” you muttered, smirking. “About sixteen hours recent.”

“Wha—?!” Ned shrieked. “I’ve been manifesting this since sophomore year and I still didn’t see it coming?!”

Peter chuckled, pulling you closer by the waist. “I think it surprised us too.”

And then, as if summoned by Devil himself—

FLASH THOMPSON WALKED BY.

He froze mid-strut.

Blink.

Blink blink.

Error 404: Brain not found.

You could hear his brain combusting.

“WAIT. WAIT. WHAT—WHAT IS HAPPENING—” Flash pointed. “YOU’RE—SHE’S—PARKER?! YOU’RE DATING Y/N STARK?!”

Peter blinked. “Uh. Yeah?”

Flash did a double take so violent he almost tripped over his own Air Jordans. “WHAT DIMENSION IS THIS. WHAT DO YOU MEAN PENIS PARKER GOT THE STARK HEIRESS??”

You tilted your head sweetly. “Aw, Flash. You jealous?”

He sputtered. “Of—of him?! No way, I just—like—seriously?! You’re a Stark! You could date anyone! You could date, like, a Hemsworth or someone!”

You shrugged. “Yeah, but Peter actually knows how to use a brain cell. And, y’know, he doesn’t speak in protein shakes.”

Ned wheezed. MJ snorted her coffee.

Peter was still red in the face, but the smile he gave you?

Yeah, worth every second of hallway gossip.

Flash, meanwhile, walked off muttering to himself like an NPC in total glitch mode.

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

[werewolfest]

🏳️‍⚧️ T is for transgender !!! 🏳️‍⚧️

[petew21-blog]

Friends for life

This Zack, my best childhood friend. When we were kids, we were basically inspereable. We spent so much time together. We slept over each tohers houses. Even better was the fact that our moms were best frinds. So not only they spend so much time together, but so did we. But that was 6 years ago. Everything changed when my dad died. Zack was there for me, but over time we grew apart. I had to help out my mum with my two sisters and she had to get another job to get enough money for us. Zack's mom on the other hand got divorced and found a new boyfriend. Who I heard didn't really get on well with Zack.

Me and Zack talked from time to time, but it was mainly superficial. Zack was now a very well respected guy in the school. He was always into sports. But now he was a swimmer, basketball and a football player as well. I don't know where he got all that time and energy. Even if we saw each other in the classroom we just smiled or waved at each other. Maybe even this very tiny friendship was the reason why no bullies dared to touch me. Not that Zack would every bully anyone, but if he knew that the other guys bullied someone, he always stood up for that person and ended it. And the bullies even apologized sometimes. That's how respected he was.

So yeah Zack's a jock and I am a classic nerd. Or maybe not classic. I don't really have much time to play games on the computer because of my job, but when I have some spare time I read comic books. So yeah, that makes me a nerd I suppose. And I do quite well at school too. Maybe not the PE, I kinda suck at that, but I get by.

Present time

Me and several other classmates were assigned to start decorating the halls for upcoming prom. Most of my classmates were really excited for that, but not me. I didn't have anyone to go with. Not anyone I wanted to atleast. Ok, I'll say it. I am gay, which complicates things a bit. And the person I would really like to go to prom with is Zack. But that will never happen. Zack is 100% striaght and it would totally ruin his reputation in the school.

But that doesn't stop me from obssessing about him. I saw him a few times in the locker rooms which gave me a pretty consistent image of how he changed over the years. He was pretty much the same Zack I grew up with, but I bet that his junk is much bigger than I remember. Truth be told, Zack was the first (and only) person who I had any sexual experience with. I know it sounds sus, but he only wanted to experiment jerking each other off as most boys do at their younger years. Back then I was really puzzled and didn't know what to do. Now I just wish I could go back to that moment once again.

I was one of the few remaining students. The rest headed to the shops to get their dresses and suits. I told them to leave and that I would finish it by myself, cause I wasn't planning on going anyway.

I entered the gym to get a ladder, to help me set up the last few letters over the door. And there he was, on the other side of the room. Zack was lifting some weights I didn't even know how to name. He noticed me battling with the ladder nd hurried up to help me. I mean... wouldn't you crush about him too?

Zack:"Hey, man. Nobody came to help you with this? It's pretty heavy."

Me:"Hey, no. They all left to get their suits and all. So it's just me now."

Zack:"Oh, that's sad. You need help with something?"

Me:"No, it's fine. It's just final touches. But thanks"

Zack:"All right, man. But if you need, don't hesitate to ask ok?"

He smiled and went back to finish his set.

I was basically drooling, As I was climbing the ladder and trying to reach the letters, I stumbled and grabbed onto a light. I must have been shocked or something cause then I found myself on the floor. But I wasn't on the ground, I was standing. And on the ground was my body, unconcious.

I looked at my hands and they were barely visible. I tried to reach my body but it wouldn't accept my soul. Fuck, am I dying? I tried to call out for Zack but he didn't hear me. I ran to him and saw him lifting his weights. I tried to reach for him, but before I did I felt a force pulling me towards him. And as I was pulled away I felt something being ejected out of his body.

I opened my eyes, looking in front of me. But Zack was gone now. I turned around but he wasn't anywhere. As I looked down, I noticed I was now wearing bright red shorts, and on top of that a very sweaty torso, which definitely wasn't mine. I reached out my hands. Fuck, is this really happening? I searched the pockets and found a phone. In its reflection I saw Zack's face. Oh my god. Did I really just possess Zack's body? And where is he?

The responsible flow of thoughts was now interrupted by the two huge sweaty biceps now in the way where I usually didn't mind them. I flexed and oh my god, the tightness, the strength. I felt amazing.

I knew it was bad, but I just had to give it a try. What if I might never have a chance to do this ever again, I stuck out my new tongue and licked my new shoulder all the way to my biceps. Which also allowed me now to inhale the scent of my sweaty armpit. "This is so amazing!"

I then proceeded to touch my new belly full off abs. "How the hell did he get these?"

"Lot of working out and calorie deficit" a voice called out from the other side of the room, where I was before. And there was my body. Standing.

"Zack? Is that you?"

"Yeah. Would you mind telling me how this happened?"

I wanted to be completely honest, I swear, but I think that he doesn't need to know the part where my soul travelled to his body and was pulled by it.

"So, are we gonna try to reverse it the same way? Cause your body is really hurting from the fall and my body needs to be ready for a game tommorow. So I'm not really sure about that"

"I'm really sorry about that Zack. I mean, you're right that maybe it was my near deth experience that caused this, but I don't know if endangering our lives would allow to swap us back. What if the other one dies and the remaining one will have to keep on living the other ones life?"

"Yeah, you're onto something. Well, we're gonna have to figure out how to pass on as each other."

We spoke some more about how we were gonna live our lives without anyone thinking we have gone crazy.

"Ok, Zack. Just one question. How about... you know. Private stuff?"

"You mean my personal things at home or phone? Well that shouldn't be so bad I think. I don't have many secrets to tell or something, haha"

"No, I mean. Eventually we're gonna have to take a shower or go to a toilet."

"Oh, right. I haven't thought of that. Well, than my body is your body? I mean, I don't really like to think about somebody else using my body like that, but I know you're a good person and all, so I know you'll treat my body well. Maybe just... no sex? Could you do that for me please?"

"Zach, I haven't had sex yet even in my body. I mean, your body is attractive and all so, I know I could get a date in your body or smth, but that's not something I would do."

"Ok, thanks man. Just making sure. And also another thing. I..."

"What is i Zack?"

"Give me a second, it's kind off embarasing for me. I have to jerk off in the evening everyday. If I don't I sometimes have wet dreams the next morning"

"Dude, that's nothing to be ashamed of. That happens, Zack"

"Thanks. I know you mean well, but I just know my body. So I know you'll have to take care of that now or you'll have a very unpleasant morning including the washing of the clothes and bed linens."

I felt Zack dick in my new shorts getting hard just by hearing about this. Not only am I in the body of my crush, but he himself gave me permission to jerk off his dick. How crazy is that?

"Ok, Zack. If that's what needs to be done, I'll do it." I said it in a way to make it sound like I wasn't thrilled to jerk off his dick

"And in exchange I'll get to jerk off your dick. Do you have any other secrets I should know about?"

OH FUCK NO I am not telling him "Well... not really. I think."

"Good, then let's get to it. In case you won't know what to do, just text me and I'll help you"

I was approaching Zack's house. The one where I basically grew up secondary to mine. I knew where all the rooms were. What stuff was placed where. But that was before the death of my dad and before the divorce. Who knows what's different

I entered the house anticipating horrible things. And then a strange man left the restroom. "Hey, dipshit. Back from school already? Jesus fuck. The kids these days. Why don't you get a job kid" he left for the kitchen to grab himself a cold beer and left for the living room.

Now I understand why Zack spent so much time at school doing sports. He didn't want to stay at home longer than necessary.

Anyway, up to Zack's room. His room was not filthy, it was kind of clean, but at the same time it was a but disorganized. Some of his used clothes were lying on the ground. I grabbed one of his boxers and grabbed it to my face. This is my smell now. The smell of my dick. I inhaled and held it to my nose.

As I felt my dick hardening, I didn't waste no time and started undressing myself. Zack's small mirror didn't do the trick for me so I left to the bathroom.

"Ok, modern shower. That's new. Gonna have to give it a go"

I took off all my remaining clothes. I left his necklace on and then just stared at my new reflection in the mirror. How amazing is this?

I touched his jawline, his already growing beard, scratching my hand. His lips, shivering underneath my touch. His beautiful nose. His eyes, that now contained my soul and not his looked a bit different, but same too. I took my right hand and place it on my neck while my left hand was already enjoying the hairtrail blow my stomach.

"Oh Zack, I think you'd be the type to shave. Might do that for you to fully embrace this massive beast" and with that I lowered my right hand that was before resting on my vibrating throat and now started jerking my new dick.

"Just doing what I had been told. Haha"

I jerked faster. I was slightly moaning but not loud enough to cause suspicion with Zack's step dad. I was observing the tense muscles just working hard to get me into the state of pure euphoria.

I was getting close. I couldn't stop myself from moaning. I jerked so hard that the cum flew out of my dick right to the mirror in front of me. Is I stood there, smiling with my semi-hard dick in my hand I just saw the door swung open.

I quickly covered my dick and whole self with a towel, but even the partial view could give the viewer enough information. His step dad was furious

"What the hell you fucker?!? You're jerking off here while you could do some usefull job instead? I will have a very long talk with your mother when she gets here!"

What the hell just happened. Why is he so mad at Zack all the time. He's a student and a busy one at that. I don't know what this guy's problem is

I cleaned up the bathroom and got ready for the next time. Just the fact that I got the privilege to smell Zack's scent all the time and sleep in his bed. But having his body was a whole new level. I never even dreamed of this

The next day was horrible. I started the day with PE at school and let me tell you, that having a great body full of muscles is one thing. But having a weak will to actually do it is another. I was exhausted. I felt like I wouldn't be able to get up again after finishing

I saw Zack aproaching me in my body with a concerned look. I was beggining to worry what was on his mind

Zack:"Hey... umm how was your first night as me?"

Me:"Gotta say that the stepdad you got there is an another level of douchebag. I can't believe how you can live with that"

Zack:"Yeah, he is like that all the time. I don't know what mom sees in him. He's actually super nice to her, but seems to hate me just for breathing"

Me:"Yeah. I'll tell you later. There has been a bit of embarassing encounter"

Zack:"Actually I might ask you about something else first. Last night as I was in the bed I was trying to jerk off your dick, very nice by the way"

Me:"Jesus, don't make it more awkward than it is"

Zack:"Sorry. We'll I was trying to jerk off as I normally would, watching porn and stuff, but I couldn't. Then my mind wandered over to the guy on the video... I have to ask you and don't be afraid to answer. Are you gay?"

Me:"Yeah... I've been meaning to tell you for a long time. Well... since we're already saying everything to each other. I'll just admit it right now. I... I have a crush on you Zack"

Zack:"That was my another question. I have my head filled with thoughts. Very naughty thoughts including my body, so I am happy that you cleared this up and I am not just another self centered weirdo. But the question is. Would you let me suck my dick?"

Oh man

Another story from the inbox: Can you do a classic swap story between a nerd and a straight jock? I always find those to be super hot

Hey guys. Sorry for the great break. I was finishing my exams (I passed them all, yay) and now I am in a different country on an externship trying to figure shit out. But I do have some free time during the day and I get to write a bit about my drafts and the stories in your inbox. And thanks to everyone who texted me all the supportive and kind words :) really appreciate it

[ash5monster01]

Hii! I’ve just seen a prompt that goes: “You don’t talk much.” — “I just really like listening to you, that’s all.” and it made me think of Todd Anderson ✨🥰 soo, if you could do something fluffy based on that prompt, it would be great

Enough For The Both of Us

Pairing: Todd Anderson x FemReader

Warnings: fluff, blabbing, minor sadness, mentions of being shy, lack of friends

Summary: When getting partnered up for class, you’re desperate to make this mystery guy your friend. Yet maybe things work out a little better than that.

word count: 1k

Masterlist

College was supposed to be fun. At least that’s what you thought. It had been two weeks and you had yet to make friends. Even your roommate had left you behind, finding a group she didn’t bother to include you in. It had become hopeless, that was until your English professor announced an assignment. An assignment that required you to partner up and work on for a full two weeks. A golden opportunity of guaranteed time to make a friend. Yet with just your luck the name placed beside your own on the list is not a female name. Instead you eye the suspicious lettering of a boy named Todd.

Yet you don’t falter, you take it with stride. Boys and girls could be friends right? At least not in your experience but you had also never tried. It didn’t help you went to an all girls school before this. Boys were new territory, something meant to explore once you made friends in college. You’d just have to do things out of order now, which you remind yourself of that as you start your trek to the school library. The very place you had agreed to meet this so called Todd.

He’s not hard to find, a blonde boy with shy eyes who raises a sheepish hand to flag you down. You shuffle towards him immediately, dropping your school books as you sit in the seat beside him instead of across from him. The action makes him blush while you pull out the assignment from class. “Hi Todd, it’s nice to meet you. I’m excited for us to start working on this project together”

“Y-yeah. Me too” the boy stutters, eyes never quite meeting your own as he turns to face his own work on the table.

“I was thinking we could be friends Todd. I need a friend around here and the person forced to work on a project with me is better than any” you tell him, filling in the conversation where he lacks. You figure with his shy nature he won't put up much of a fight. Perfect.

"Okay" he sounds uneasy but you don't give him much time to think about it as you finally organize all the papers in front of you.

"Not to say I'm not cool or anything. I'm really cool, I just haven't found the right crowd around here yet. If I'm being honest I was kind of upset I wasn't partnered with another girl. Not that a boy is bad but it would be nice to have a girlfriend first to talk to about all the boy stuff. Like you're cute, but I couldn’t tell you that" you ramble, not even a semblance of vulnerabilty as you speak. That's why Todd stares at you with such awe, shocked at how easy it is for you to communicate and not regret it after. He had been better, no longer the meek boy he once was, fading like a dying flame but he also was no where near the level of confidence you were.

"You just did" Todd points out, the tips of his ears burning red as he tries not to dwell on how pretty you are. He had thought it had to be some curse that the beautiful girl he couldn't stop staring at in class somehow got partnered up with him.

"I guess you're right, well either way I'm sure you have some guy friends and get what I mean. It's not like we can share every detail of our lives with each other, it's unnatural. We're so different" and as much as Todd wants to disagree, having only been surrounded by boys his whole life he would have to understand.

"Different how?" Todd inquires, other than the obvious gender difference he wants to hear what this gorgeous girl had already deemed of him in only five minutes of her blabbing and him sitting here and silently listening. If he had the confidence of Charlie or Neil he would’ve asked you on a date already, stopped this silly friend train because there was no way he could possibly be friends with someone who looked like you.

"Well you know, boy, girl. I'm outgoing and you're, well you're just sitting here" you say with a serious look that has a laugh escaping Todds lips and betraying him. The minute the sound reaches your ears his face is as red as a tomato, but she only finds the boy impossibly cuter. Curse you for all this rambling about being friends when you really should've been flirting this whole time.

"Okay" Todd agrees after a moment, nodding his head along and trying to look away before you could see just how red his whole body was from this simple conversation with you. To think you hadn't even started working on a project yet.

"You don’t talk much" you state, looking at him with suspicous eyes and trying to understand the entirety of him. What a mystery this boy was.

“I just really like listening to you, that’s all” he finally says with a slight confidence you hadn't thought him capable. The shock of his words makes your nerves buzz inside you. You knew you could talk to much but to have someone speak so fondly of it was different. Mainly you were picked on for never holding your tongue and instead a boy had complimented you on it. A cute boy at that.

"So I haven't annoyed you yet, scared you away?" You ask curiously, hoping he won't say he was just messing with you. It was possible he could still up and leave, request another partner, and you had humiliated yourself.

"The opposite actually. It's nice being around someone who talks enough for the both of us" the sentence reminds him of Neil, a sad smile painting his features as you let the words wash over you. The most he had said directly to you since you had sat in this seat.

"Than this partnership might just work Todd" you grin and he blushes again, liking you hadn't used the word friend. Especially now that he wanted to be much more than your friend.

"Agreed"

[radarsteddybear]

Reasons that Elementary Writing Curricula Should Begin With Writing a Friendly Letter

A lot of elementary writing curriculum programs being with the assignment of writing a "friendly letter," which is a letter to a friend updating them about your life and/or telling them about something fun they did. And for good reason! There are a lot of reasons that this is a fantastic way to start the kids writing for the school year:

It's personal! The kids get to write about themselves, which is a fairly easy thing to write about. And boy, do kids love talking about themselves!

It follows a very specific format and conventions! Having this framework to follow helps kids get their thoughts onto paper. How many times have you tried to write something and stared at the page because you didn't know where to start or what should come next? Having a specific framework to follow eliminates that parallelization, allowing students to focus on what they want to say.

It's a useful format to be familiar with! Yes, I know that snail mail is nowhere near as popular as it used to be and has largely been superseded by things like email, texting, and instant messaging, it still introduces kids to the ideas of how to effectively communicate via written language and what types of things one might want to share in communications with a friend. Furthermore, email and letters share many of the same parts and pieces--the salutation ("Dear _____"), the closing ("Sincerely," "Your Friend," etc.), and the signature (the sender's name). Heck, to make the assignment more fun and relevant, the teacher could make it a "friendly email" rather than a "friendly letter."

Of course, since the school district I used to work at sucked in just about every conceivable way, their writing program did not begin with writing a friendly letter. Instead, I kid you not, the first writing assignment we were supposed to have our second graders (age 7) do was to write about "how you've changed the world," and they were supposed to answer with things like "I helped my mom set the table" or "I helped my dad take out the garbage" or "I cleaned my room," which is an incredibly abstract idea for seven-year-olds whose brains are not yet developed enough to think in the abstract. It's also boring. Who wants to write about chores?

Our writing assignments only got worse from there.

[se-conway]

Letter that I had to write for a final assignment but I cut out personal details so it jumps around topics lol

First and foremost, I am a writer. This is set, like the North star. It will not change unless the entire universe consumes itself. Or, if the star implodes, it would destroy not only itself, but the world as well. And nobody really knows how it came, they just woke up one day and there it was.

It has come so attached to my identity that I have a new surname. S. E. Conway. Writer. S. E. Conway-Writer.

My Chromebook, when it was in its prime, had particular keys so worn down that either most of the letters were gone, or indented from my fingers, that even if I tried to conceal my

identity, it would be apparent. My backspace button no longer has the letters, and my e-key is just blank. My space bar has two indents that my fingers fall into every time a new word is breathed onto the page.

The Heavens know that I am stubborn and immovable and I would rather fail than waste my time, swimming in the very textbooks that I despise. Paragraphs upon paragraphs of information that I have to trudge through, picking up the important pieces of garbage in hopes that it will not leave me by the morrow. Navigating through mathematical questions, ones with wording so odd and peculiar I cannot begin to describe, and I am tired and I have already been to math that day and did my work, so why must I go back to it when my passion---to the point it turns to a vice---is calling my name? Forgive the impoverished spirit, who so easily folds to the whims of dreams, for she ventures into another land and recounts to those who will listen, what she has found. Forgive the helpless, for she cannot change her nature, but you may certainly try, in the way men cut down trees by the hundreds and thousands to make it into a capitalist’s dream.

Yes, I suppose what has been spilled has been spilled, and no matter how hard I could try to clean it up, there will still be a stain. So, let me set the table over it, and lead our conversation into the pleasantries that comes with dinner. Pick up your utensils, and we shall eat.

An even more awkward thing to read is the continuous ramblings of a sixteen year old girl, and I suppose, if the future seeks it, to read her own writing. I do not like it when I have to talk about my writing to someone else’s face---believe it or not---because it is a raw and open piece of myself, and I have never been good at talking. No, I am unassuming and plain to the outside world, to teachers, and to co-workers. But, when I write, I am a different version of myself, one who is alive, and capable, and she can outwit me in the written form of communication, than verbal.

I cease my words, now, but the words will find themselves somewhere other than this letter.

Sincerely,

S. E. Conway. Writer.

[thefeathercollective]

we're 99.9% sure that portuguese poet Fernando Pessoa was plural.

okay uh disclaimer. we're not a psychology or literature expert by any means. we rarely even read poetry. we only heard of this guy in high school literature class and the thought stuck with us and then we found plausible evidence lmao. also, as a plural system ourselves, we're clearly biased.

and a considerable amount of this post will be sourced from wikipedia. and this is the first time we've made a post like this. please don't come after us I'm just writing this for fun lmao

huge ramble ahead!

who even was that man

Fernando António Nogueira Pessoa (Portuguese: [fɨɾˈnɐ̃du pɨˈsoɐ]; 13 June 1888 – 30 November 1935) was a Portuguese poet, writer, literary critic, translator, publisher, and philosopher, described as one of the most significant literary figures of the 20th century and one of the greatest poets in the Portuguese language. He also wrote in and translated from English and French.

yeah that's who the man was. but what really sparked our interest in him during class and made us wonder if he was plural were his...

✨heteronyms✨

y'know pseudonyms? when someone writes under a different name than their own for whatever reason? these are similar, but the catch is that the different names have different personalities, supposed appearances, philosophies, all that shit.

the term was coined by Pessoa himself, and his heteronyms were written as if they were real people. they had detailed careers, histories, etc. he had at least 70, although I vaguely remember some other source estimating it at around 100.

"but eva, these could just be OCs or something!",

he had 3 main ones though, being Alberto Caeiro (known for interpreting the world as-is, without greater meaning or anything, like some sorta anti-poet), Álvaro de Campos (a naval engineer who even had multiple phases in his philosophy) and Ricardo Reis (who wrote with a lot of structure and rationality, and was very pessimistic).

I predict someone typing. to that, I begin my endless copy-paste + ramble about all the things that make us think the heteronyms were headmates.

I'll throw in a section of a letter Pessoa wrote to some other poet (bolding the parts I find relevant because I don't love walls of text lmao)

How do I write in the name of these three? Caeiro, through sheer and unexpected inspiration, without knowing or even suspecting that I'm going to write in his name. Ricardo Reis, after an abstract meditation, which suddenly takes concrete shape in an ode. Campos, when I feel a sudden impulse to write and don't know what. (My semi-heteronym Bernardo Soares, who in many ways resembles Álvaro de Campos, always appears when I'm sleepy or drowsy, so that my qualities of inhibition and rational thought are suspended; his prose is an endless reverie. He's a semi-heteronym because his personality, although not my own, doesn't differ from my own but is a mere mutilation of it. He's me without my rationalism and emotions. His prose is the same as mine, except for certain formal restraint that reason imposes on my own writing, and his Portuguese is exactly the same – whereas Caeiro writes bad Portuguese, Campos writes it reasonably well but with mistakes such as "me myself" instead of "I myself", etc.., and Reis writes better than I, but with a purism I find excessive…)

so not only does he describe writing Caeiro completely unexpectedly, he also gives the same sort of opinion about his heteronyms' writings that we've seen (and experienced) plural folks give about their headmates' typing or drawing styles.

hell, "writes better than I but with a purism I find excessive" is exactly my opinion of lynn when he does our assignments lmao

the semi-heteronym surfacing when Pessoa is sleepy could be some sorta dissociative state that lets a headmate come through, be it straight-up fronting or passive influence... but I'm probably forcing it too much here.

uhhh here's something on the heteronym thing from some guy called richard zenish. I bolded some parts again

For each of his 'voices', Pessoa conceived a highly distinctive poetic idiom and technique, a complex biography, a context of literary influence and polemics and, most arrestingly of all, subtle interrelations and reciprocities of awareness. [...] Pessoa was often unsure who was writing when he wrote, and it's curious that the very first item among the more than 25,000 pieces that make up his archives in the National Library of Lisbon bears the heading A. de C. (?) or B. de D. (or something else).

"okay.... they could still be characters though"

the heteronyms were aware of and sometimes interacted between themselves. wikipedia's list of Pessoa's heteronyms even has the man himself as a heteronym and pupil of Alberto Caeiro, although I don't feel like going after the source for that bit.

dear hypothetical person I'm quoting here, you're entitled to your opinion. but how about we take, say... a more DID/OSDD-y approach to things? because there's things that hint that Fernando Pessoa's plurality could be traumagenic and/or disordered too.

When Pessoa was five, his father, Joaquim de Seabra Pessôa, died of tuberculosis and less than seven months later his younger brother Jorge, aged one, also died (2 January 1889).

(written by himself about himself:) Nothing had ever obliged him to do anything. He had spent his childhood alone. He never joined any group. He never pursued a course of study. He never belonged to a crowd. The circumstances of his life were marked by that strange but rather common phenomenon – perhaps, in fact, it's true for all lives – of being tailored to the image and likeness of his instincts, which tended towards inertia and withdrawal.

(written by a schoolfellow:) For one of his age, he thought much and deeply and in a letter to me once complained of "spiritual and material encumbrances of most especial adverseness". He took no part in athletic sports of any kind and I think his spare time was spent on reading. We generally considered that he worked far too much and that he would ruin his health by so doing.

so childhood trauma, check...? at the very least this stuff doesn't sound very good for a child's mental health.

Pessoa's earliest heteronym, at the age of six, was Chevalier de Pas. Other childhood heteronyms included Dr. Pancrácio and David Merrick, followed by Charles Robert Anon, a young Englishman who became Pessoa's alter ego.

"I can remember what I believe was my first heteronym, or rather, my first nonexistent acquaintance — a certain Chevalier de Pas — through whom I wrote letters to myself when I was six years old, and whose not entirely hazy figure still has a claim on the part of my affections that borders on nostalgia. I have a less vivid memory of another figure . . . who was a kind of rival to the Chevalier de Pas. Such things occur to all children ? Undoubtedly — or perhaps. But I lived them so intensely that I live them still; their memory is so strong that I have to remind myself that they weren’t real."

oh I just found some spiritual stuff too

the appearance of the first heteronym was after his family members died so that's one thing... and like, that's not just one childhood heteronym but at least four. and well, to me they sound a bit too vivid for your average imaginary friend.

Pessoa's interest in spiritualism was truly awakened in the second half of 1915, while translating theosophist books. This was further deepened in the end of March 1916, when he suddenly started having experiences where he believed he became a medium, having experimented with automatic writing. [...] Besides automatic writing, Pessoa stated also that he had "astral" or "etherial visions" and was able to see "magnetic auras" similar to radiographic images. [...] Mediumship exerted a strong influence in Pessoa's writings, who felt "sometimes suddenly being owned by something else" or having a "very curious sensation" in the right arm, which was "lifted into the air" without his will. Looking in the mirror, Pessoa saw several times what appeared to be the heteronyms: his "face fading out" and being replaced by the one of "a bearded man", or another one, four men in total.

........

man, this wikipedia article is extensive and full of stuff that supports our silly little theory, huh.

yeah, so he attributed it to spiritual reasons which is fair and valid, but... "owned by something else" all of a sudden? the thing with the right arm sounding a lot like partial possession in tulpamancy? seeing his heteronyms' faces in the mirror?

yeahhhh.

(I'm guessing the magnetic aura thing could be some sorta derealization, contributing to the he-was-a-dissociative-system hypothesis, but that's yet another stretch on my part.)

(plus, spiritual plurality is a thing.)

oh! this thing he wrote sounds a lot like it too.

"This tendency to create around me another world . . . began in me as a young adult, when a witty remark that was completely out of keeping with who I am or think I am would sometimes and for some unknown reason occur to me, and I would immediately, spontaneously say it as if it came from some friend of mine whose name I would invent, along with biographical details, and whose figure — physiognomy, stature, dress and gestures — I would immediately see before me."

let's just do a quick google..

am I biased? yes, very much so. but y'know. you can see I have my reasons.

to see if any people with more qualifications than we have think the same about Fernando Pessoa possibly being plural lmao.

...oh, yes. contrary to what we thought a couple years ago when we had that class about the guy, other people have indeed thought the same. and written about it.

keywords "fernando pessoa mpd" give us:

this paper from 2012 (in portuguese) that... well, I *think* it claims he had mpd but it's very convoluted and abstract about it

this little... forum post? from 2009 that quotes a dead link :v

this one seems kinda cool. it regards Pessoa's positive approach to his heteronym-having as a creative condion called Pessoa Syndrome, and later mentions some Multiple Personality Order (not disorder). don't love some of its wording about mental disorders and madness... it's good to see someone consider healthy multiplicity as a thing that exists, though. it also claims Pessoa became someone with multiple personalities through his heteronymic writing, which is yet another possible origin I hadn't considered before for some fucking reason.

this one cites a dissociative process

this one straight up calls it "subject plurality"!

conclusion ig. I'm pretending to be organized here.

other keywords (like "fernando pessoa dissociative") provide some more results :0 but I've been writing this post for far too long now and would rather not read through more odd wording lmao

it really surprises me that wikipedia doesn't mention the possibility at all from what I've read and ctrl+F'ed. I thought we were being a conspiracy theorist about it but then I found even more stuff to back us up, including other people's analyses. so that's nice.

and I think this kind of thing, of plurals of the past, should be talked about more in the community. it's really interesting to say the least.

...

how does one even end a post like this one.

uhh thanks for reading!!

[terresdebrume]

Dear Niko,

I do realize I only sent my last letter a few days ago, and it is likely not in your hand yet, but you did demand an immediate account of my return to school, and so here we are.

St Hilarion remains largely equal to itself. The repairs to the gymnasium were conducted in time, which means that I have a decent chance of avoiding rugby classes in the middle of winter this year. The rest of the buildings are just as old and decrepit as they used to be, and my room still smell terribly musty. Simon Waller, despite my dearest wishes, has neither fallen off the surface of the earth, nor thought of anything more entertaining than calling me Tinker Bell. I suppose I should be grateful, at this point, for his lack of imagination: I shudder to imagine the things he would call me if he were in possession of a single creative bone. Although, perhaps then he would come up with something offensive enough to force the adults to react and finally put a stop to his harassment. One can always dream.

In happier news: Simon and I do not share a homeroom this year. I was, as you can imagine, deeply relieved to learn this. Most of his posse is also with him, which I dearly hope will allow me some feeling of safety if only during my core classes. I will need all the study time I can get if hope to get A's on all my GCSEs, and Simon and his group are too significant a distraction.

There is a new student in my class. His name is Charles, he used to study on the other side of town, and he had swept half our year off their feet by the end of first period. He is handsome enough, but very charming: he seems to be perpetually smiling or laughing, is sociable, amiable, and respectful enough of teachers to be forgiven the few lapses he has shown so far. By the end of the day, I had overhead both his math and biology teacher praise his upbeat approach to classes, and his obvious determination to do well. Yesterday in English, he was one of the few students to have done the summer reading, which is a surefire way to get on Mrs. Devlin's good side.

Perhaps the only teacher who was not immediately enthused was Mr. Phare, the PE teacher. Charles apparently has some sort of special dispense for swimming classes, a condition linked to chlorine... Only Mr. Phare must not have been informed beforehand, so when Charles showed up in his regular uniform, covered wrists to ankles, instead of a swimsuit, Mr. Phare became quite irritated and nearly had him thrown out.

Fortunately for him, Charles is otherwise an excellent sportsman. He has since applied for a d successfully joined the boxing club, the basketball team, the tracks club, and the criquet team, of which he seems to have become an immediate hero. I must admit that I was glad we were not assigned to the same group in that class: PE is torture enough without the added humiliation of having some sort of sports whiz witness my shame.

I must admit his presence worries me. Not because of him, I assure you! He seems perfectly respectful so far, and I have been trying to heed your advice and be less pessimistic, therefore I will assume this persona of his is genuine until and unless I am proven wrong. I do however find him intriguing, which as you know usually means I forget that it is impolite to stare at others. Should that happen, and should Simon or one of his friends notice it, I have no doubt they would turn this against me somehow. After all, you know how these boys are: always insinuating things about people's sexualities to make them feel bad about themselves.

Of course, such accusations would be entirely unfounded, but if Charles Rowland must learn of my existence at any point this year, I would rather it weren't as the odd boy with an unsettling infatuation on him. Not, of course, that its at all likely to happen, but sometimes I cannot help but worry.

I suppose we shall have to wait and see what this year has in store for both of us, then.

Best regards,

E. P.

[prettybillycore]

FOR TOMMY | Letter #3

Sincerely, Your Peaky Blinder

Pairing(s): Thomas Shelby x Original Character

Universe: Peaky Blinders / Fantastic Beasts

Summary: Veela and Seer- a powerful combination of traits for one person to have. Edith Lillian Scamander falls in love with a young Thomas Shelby while working in a nurse’s ward during WWI. Will her feelings be requited, or will she be doomed to pine over the man of her dreams for eternity hopelessly?

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 0.8k

Warnings: none

Read on AO3 or Scroll down to read it right here on Tumblr below the cut!

Lovely Lilli,

Explorations of the heart and missing pieces are tricky things. Since our time together in France, I have too lost a piece of my heart. That now makes two pieces missing.

The first piece I gave to you that day in September. Do you remember it? Danny and I came to the nurses' station with moderate wounds. I had noticed you before, but this was the first day we spoke. Nurse Martha assigned you to tend my wounds, and you did so with such a gentle touch. When your hand met my shoulder, it was as if you instantly took a piece of my heart. I felt warm for the first time in months. You commented on the redness of the skin on my cheeks. A part of my heart has belonged to you since then, my Lilli. 

The remainder of my heart shriveled at the knowledge that you were engaged. It felt as though God was playing some cruel joke on me. He placed this beautiful woman just out of my reach. I cursed him that night after you left my bedside. I have continued to curse him with every letter you send, as they make the ache in my chest cavity grow larger. I look forward to hearing from you, but in the same capacity, I am still missing the piece of my heart you stole, and the letters only serve as a reminder of such. No one has seen the letters except me; I treasure them like a beautiful, harsh secret. I suppose you do the same with your lovely Fiance Lu-Cretin sleeps beside you every night. Occasionally, one of the boys will mention you over a cup of whiskey at my bar, but I ignore them. Not for any negative reason but because I want to keep you safe; being mentioned in my bar is not always that. 

One day the previous barmaid, Grace, overheard your name spilling from Arthur's drunken lips. I tried to explain you away as an old flame, but a flame isn't old if it's still burning. Grace is a clever one, though. The next time we were alone, she asked about you. I felt torn at the moment because Grace was the person who stole the second piece of my heart that was missing. 

She came into the Pub asking to be a barmaid. I knew there was something special about her, but I did not know what at the time. I hired her, and she put me under a spell, much like you. My heart and mind drifted away from you for a few weeks because there was someone new to pander after. However, when she asked about you, my heart hit the floor. At that moment, I realized just how big of a piece you took. I panicked, but I tried not to let it show. I still wanted to keep you safe, even from Grace. After this past month, I am glad that I did; Grace gave me the piece back that she stole. It was wilted and withered and honestly unfixable. Grace betrayed my trust and the trust of my family by giving details to an out-of-town cop. She no longer works in my bar. She no longer lives in Birmingham.

I received your letter the same day she left a note for me. As I write this, she is waiting for me in a London Hotel room. She wants a life with me away from my family. It turns out that she left a piece of her heart with me, and she wants it back. I am sending her a letter to decline her offer after I mail this letter to you. The remainder of my heart cannot take any more breakage for the time being. 

That said, I return to your last question, the piece of your heart you gave me. You have expressed your disdain for Lucretius many times in our correspondence. So many times, in fact, that I also profoundly loathe him. I am not one for suggesting leaving your spouse, but I went to Aunt Pol. She is the only one who knows about our heart pieces. I cannot hide anything from that woman. Under her advice, we have both agreed that it would be beneficial for you to depart from your fiance in a timely manner. With Grace's absence, a barmaid vacancy exists in my Pub. I'll have a room waiting for you when you arrive. 

Sincerely,

Your Peaky Blinder

____________________________

[hellogirlslikegirlslikeboysdo]

And the lights are not fluorescent, and there are no words on the page. - Zuihitsu/Hybrid Essay

Author's Preface and Ch. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7

Description: My final portfolio for one of the creative writing courses I took based around exploring the creative nonfiction essay in its many literary forms, with any and all identifying names or signifiers censored out.

This essay may not actually, in the most technical sense available, “pass” as a submission to the “Essay 3: Zuihitsu/ Hybrid” assignment.

If you are interested in financial compensation for your loss, feel free to contact us at 1-800-THIS-AUTHOR-IS-PHYSICALLY-ALLERGIC-TO-UNDERSTANDING-BASIC-DIRECTIONS. We are taking the time and liberty to inform you of this upcoming inconvenience not only as a hook for the first line of this essay, nor to plead “ignorance of the literary law” during its grading process, but rather to provide a reference point based in where said essay is coming from, and where it plans on going for the remainder of its duration.

As we’re sure you’ve found in your time as an academic instructor working at [REDACTED], [REDACTED]’s famous claim of a “gradeless” curriculum in the traditional sense (ie. a lack of letters or percentiles) may hold up in the previously mentioned technical sense (excluding the GPA our final evaluations get translated into during the grad school application process), however, most of the expectations and requirements professors hold in their classrooms act as a sort of “pass/fail” grading system anyway, though the unique teaching philosophy shared amongst them and facility tends to inspire only two genuine points of grading criteria: “Is the assignment complete in provable effort and its entirety?” and “Does it follow the awarded instructions?”

After countless scouring on the internet, our class notes, the description and examples left in the Canvas page, and our memory of class the day you explained it, we have come to the dreaded conclusion that this essay may not fit the second criterion.

Our continued rough drafting is committed, rather, to the hope that our confusion on the nature of the hybrid essay, the actual difference between Zuihitsu poetry vs Zuihitsu essay writing, the necessity of following a particular theme or idea throughout, the assigned process behind this essay, each supposed segment’s expected length or whether this portion’s subject matter qualifies it as an actual part of the essay, or even the correct way to separate each section, will somehow act in the spirit of Zuihitsu literature: Following the pen wherever it leads you.

Wish us luck, dear reader.

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I found the same kind of fun in the animal diary that I find in all our in-class hands-on work: Obvious, self-explanatory, and buried deep within the depths of the most artistic/freeform aspect of the activity. Like clockwork, it requires me to brush away the specks of uncertainty in the directions, my withered hands revealing the big, bright label plastered on top.

It reads exactly how you imagine it reads: “See!! See, look, I told you I was here! You were so focused on making sure this assignment helped you towards your next essay, you thought you wouldn’t have room for me, but here I am, idiot! You’re having a good goddamn time drawing a funky little platypus, and it’s all thanks to me! Leave your thank you on the way out, ya dumb bitch!”

Apart from the question of why this metaphor requires a labeling gun with such long stickers, one has to wonder what disgusting alleyway all that distracting stress crawled out of. The supposed safety net of my professors, generally speaking, knowing what exactly they’re doing (those PHDs don’t exactly just pop into existence one day) does quite little to sway this approach to learning in all its hypervigilance. I’ve posited many theories over the years, tangentially and never allowing myself the time for a full conclusion; It could be the looming threat of how little time I have to devote to brainstorming how to attack my assignments, maybe the unshakable internal insistence (blame capitalism or the public schooling for that, either’s a fine scapegoat and the “why” is too abstract to help me in the middle of class) that learning has to be productive towards a traceable later goal, instead of myself as a whole and an academic (if I have nothing tangible to show for my efforts, how can I be sure I even followed the directions correctly?).

The most troubling option, embarrassing as it is for someone who claims to prioritize her career as a writer above all else, is that I’m simply trying to justify using the skills and techniques as they are given to me, in hopes that the results they wield in class are shiny enough for me to actually use them outside of the class.

I do wonder if I took the animal diary this seriously when I first encountered it. My memory flickers under the winds of time, but I’m leaning towards no.

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It does, of course, come to my attention what asking for clarification on the instructions could do, but the things classification has done in the past (make just as little sense as before, confuse me further, led my mind even farther from the intended understanding, you know the drill) brushes the thought away.

Years of fractured, sprawled-out education has taught me my best approach for tasks I’m not fully sure about is to set my concerns aside and simply go with what I think is best, consequences be damned!

(And by damned, I mean, as I’m sure you guessed, professionally dealt with at a later date.)

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Maybe the apologetic, justifying tone gives me away, maybe it's the heavy overarching theme in this freeform-style essay, but I should confess that my current thoughts are mixed in the way they always are. Half are swirling around the task at hand and what little attention I can pay to it (as always). The other half is on what I really wish I was writing (ie. what I am always thinking about, somewhere, way in the back): Whatever nonsense my brain has deemed flashy enough to name my current hyperfixation (The Stanley Parable at the moment I’m writing this, though I’m sure it’ll have changed by the time I come back to edit this).

That latter half, of course, brings me to the conundrum I’ve left out to dry ever since I labeled myself a writer. I want to spend this entire essay rambling on about this stupid little video game, and its two stupid little main characters, and the actually brilliant way they need each other more than the narrative itself needs them in one blog-style expository essay, well underneath 750 words. But that just won’t work, in the same way that what I wish I was writing even more than that (fiction, prose in particular) won’t work either. In the simplest of terms, that’s not what this assignment is about. And in order to actually learn, to grow as a writer, I can’t just write what I want to. I have to write what I need to.

[dream-diary-of-a-random-person]

Where is He? - 10/6/2023

In my dream last night, I was in a language arts class and we were watching a period-drama movie. After a while, the teacher suddenly switched what movie we were watching. The teacher was looking on her computer for our answers that we were supposed to put in online, and told me I needed to finish mine. I opened up the Chromebook that was in front of me, which had a long nonsense word typed in. It was part of the name of the movie, however I couldn't remember the rest.

Apparently in the movie that was currently playing, Sweet, Cap'n, and Cakes from Deltarune were supposed to make an appearance. However, and argument began about what one of their names was. Some said "PP" and others "BB" due to what and how it had been written on a whiteboard in the front of the class. I tried to tell one of the girls that it was "Sweet" but she didn't seem to really care, despite the argument still going on. Around this time, I decided to just not do the assignment for the other movie since I still couldn't find it.

I then realized...I had graduated already. And I didn't need to be there, so I closed my Chromebook, stood up, and went out the classroom door. No one stopped me.

When I was in the hall, my high school marine biology teacher began to follow me and ask what I was doing in the hall. He also said some other things, seeming to think I had gotten in trouble and had been sent to the principle's office. Once we reached the front of the school, I planned on going out the doors, but a big square hole in the wall leading outside was what I ended up exiting through. Though, the hole seemed to teleport me to a kinda "hilly" place with some trees not too far in the distance. Seemed like a small woodland area.

My marine biology teacher was still there, talking to me. I then became slightly lucid, turned to him, and asked, "Where is Gundham? Do you know him?" My teacher was quiet for a moment, and ended up telling me a string of letters beginning with "F S," to which afterwards he said, "F S only." He repeated the string of letters as well as the "F S only" a few times before he eventually stopped talking to me (and presumably faded from the dream).

I soon came across a fence and hopped over it, though I fell backwards and my vision went dark. I got up and began to walk in one direction. During this, I heard my inner-monologue voice telling me that Gundham was up ahead. However, I still couldn't see, and I soon woke up.

I sat up, picked up my little notebook dedicated to writing down notable dreams, and got a pencil and began to write down the letters my teacher had told me. However, as I wrote, it was kind of hard to move my hand, and some of the letters were illegible.

I then realized I was still dreaming, and woke up not long after.

Notes: - I believe the string of letters to be "F S R T T Y D" or "F S R D D Y T" - Me asking about "Gundham' refers to Gundham Tanaka from the Danganronpa series (this isn't the first time I've looked for him in a lucid dream).

Additional notes (CW for insect death):

- I had a few other dreams last night I vaguely remember. - In one of them me and a friend had gone to a zoo that was more like a pet shop. He had opened a few of the "tanks" that had snakes so he could pet their heads, which they seemed to enjoy. I managed to find a giant African millipede that had escaped its enclosure, so I let it crawl on my arm. Dude to the friction of all its legs moving, it began to heat up my arm to almost burning, so I had to put it down. I decided to put it in a tank that had another (though seemingly dead) millipede in it. I didn't notice a snake was inside, which attacked the millipede after I put inside. It made me sad, but I tried not to think of it too much. - I had another portion of a dream where some seeds I had planted in some pots in my basement had sprouted. - In another dream, me, my brother, and my dad were searching stores to find a liquid-based battery that was used to power car headlights since his had died while we were driving at night. Going 80 miles per hour in pitch black darkness was not the funnest dream to have. - I'm pretty sure earlier in that same dream me and my family had gone on a road trip. I remember us passing some old temple-looking buildings. One had two large stone skulls outside.

[rachelchapuis-nyc]

Scavenger Hunt

Our study tour class did a scavenger hunt this week that took us around the garment district. I think the intention behind the assignment was to get us acquainted with the area and how the grid system works. I found the instructions very confusing. As someone who was good at getting around in NYC without getting lost, this assignment made me less confident and more confused about the area.

Since we couldn't do the scavenger hunt in class, I did it with my roommate and classmate, Kait. We started our scavenger hunt at the studio and started following the directions to The New York Library. We passed the button sculpture on the way there.

We walked behind the library to Bryant Park. We walked along the park until we found the Kinokuniya New York bookstore. We went inside and looked around.

After leaving the bookstore, we were unsure which way to go down 6th Avenue. We found the instructions confusing as they told us to go down 6th Avenue for a block then turn towards East and cross if we must. We were supposed to be headed to the button sculpture which we passed on the way to the library. We found our way back to the sculpture and took a few pictures.

The directions then tell us to "look up and down Fashion Avenue and you will find a series of silver plaques on the sidewalk." We did not find any silver plaques on the sidewalk either way we walked on Fashion Ave.

We moved on to the next direction which included an address this time. 225 West 37th Street. We knew exactly how to get there by following the street numbers.

Once we arrived at Mood Fabrics, we asked about their swatch policy and took a business card.

We left Mood and tried to find the next location. We were very confused by the directions, "Leave this location by making a left and then make a right when you find the next corner. Walk downtown for only 2 blocks that are swell, then right again will serve you quite well. You should be on the street that is just above 34th. Now look up and to your left for the store name for this clue." Needless to say, we didn't find that one.

The next direction was "replace the first word in every golfer's dream shot with 'all' and you will have the name of this next port of call. To win at this game, you will have to tell us more, like what is the name and exact street address of this venerable old store."

Kait and I thought of "hole in one" as the golfer's dream shot and replaced hole with all. We looked up "All in One" and the only store that came up was a pet store like 15 miles away, so we also didn't find this one.

The next direction was to Macy's, and we found that easily. We also found the next one easily as it was Madison Square Garden, and we live right next to it at The New Yorker.

The next one was a store known by only two letters. Kait and I were very tired at this point and didn't realize it was H&M.

The next direction was the reason Kait and I decided to quit for the day and pick up where we left off the next day. The directions said "When leaving this store (H&M), make & right then right again to go up 6th Avenue. Keep walking uptown until you cross 3 streets while still walking North. The address will be 1008 but don't stop now, you've just barely left the gate. If ribbon's your game then you've found the right place, and even if it isn't, once you enter, you'll have a look of shock on your face. What is the name of this incredible trim store?"

Kait and I walked up and down the street looking for this trim store for at least 10 minutes. We knew we were looking for 1008 and when we walked one way the numbers were too high and the other way the numbers were too low. We walked down two side streets but thought that couldn't be right because we had to be going up 6th Avenue. We gave up and couldn't find the trim store.

We decided to take a break from the scavenger hunt and pick it up the next morning, which happened to be a Saturday.

The next morning, we went to the corner of 34th and 6th Avenue to get on the subway. We took the "N" train to go to 14th Street/Union Square. When we got to Union Square, there was a beautiful market selling fresh fruits, veggies, plants, flowers, and more. It was such a wonderful thing to find.

I loved to see all the people walking with their friends or family just enjoying the day. It was by far my favorite thing that I saw on the scavenger hunt, and it wasn't even part of the assignment. In fact, if we hadn't gone on Saturday, we wouldn't have seen the market at all.

After walking around the market, we went on with the scavenger hunt and headed to a store called City Papery. We followed the directions and stumbled upon a parade. I still am not sure what the parade was for because we caught the very end of it, but it was so beautiful and fun to see.

We found the paper store quickly, took a look around the store, and took one of their business cards. It was cool that practically everything was made of paper. They had all different kinds of paper and it was very unique.

After this, we went back to the market and bought some flowers, and just enjoyed the environment. We decided not to go to F.I.T. because I took classes there for several summers and Kait had also been there several times.

I thought the intention of this assignment was good, but I think instead of the directions in riddles, they should just be addresses and interesting places around the city. I would've loved to see more than just the touristy places like Macy's, H&M, the Button, Mood, and FIT. Though those places are interesting, there are so many unique one-of-a-kind places in NYC that are more interesting and less touristy.

Also, as a journalism major and fashion media minor, there were little to no destinations or stores that directly related to journalism or fashion media. The closest one was probably the New York Library. I also think that Library Way is such a unique and interesting installment that wasn't mentioned which is the blocks between Park and 5th Avenue and has 32 quotes from literary giants like Emily Dickinson, Ernest Hemingway, and more.

Penske Media is right across the street from The New York Library. Penske Media is home to numerous fashion-related magazines like WWD and The Sourcing Journal. Also, the New York Times building is around 2 blocks from Bryant Park.

[honorhearted]

“Use you? You’re not a pawn, sir. You’re a partner.”

"A partner," Benjamin echoed, a hint of skepticism needling into his expression. "Forgive me, I just...I can't say I'm used to that level of discretion."

Undeterred, Phoebe promised, “And you’ll function just as you do with your spy ring, except you’ll have mine at your disposal, whether you need intel from here in New York or anywhere else the British Royal Army has commandeered.” 

"And just who is in your group?" he pressed. "If you don't mind, I would like written reports on each member. The more well-versed we are with one another, the more likely we are to succeed...so naturally, I'll offer my own information, should it be requested. I'm from Setauket, Long Island; a Yale graduate of 1773; and a major in the 2nd Light Continental Dragoons. If more is needed...well..." Here, he offered a feeble smile. "I suppose I'd be willing to talk about myself, if only for the Cause. Though you might rue such a venture. I'm not terribly interesting."

A sternness overcame Phoebe's eyes, and then she passed him an ale, which Benjamin grudgingly sat up to nurse. Every motion he took made his limbs feel as if they were on fire, and after swallowing a few mouthfuls, he set the glass down with a fumbling clunk.

Unceremonious, Phoebe was quick to drop a stack of papers into his lap. “You’ve been smart to keep your group cautiously small, however, mine operates a little more vastly. These are extensive files on my agents, which you can browse more thoroughly in the morning, but they consist of what society would consider to be the less reputable sort. Harlots, homeless, servants, and slaves –those who empathize with the fight against subjugation. They’re the eyes and ears of every city and could tell you much in great detail."

Stunned, Benjamin lifted his eyes to her in amazement. "I stand corrected," he said. "It seems you don't need to gather any reports for me at all...you've done good work here, madam." Lifting the first page, he huffed and allowed an incredulous smile to fill his face. "Arguably, you've done a far better job than any of my field agents. If you're expecting something quite this extensive on my own team, I'm afraid you won't find anything beyond code names and letters. We're...understandably concerned about association."

Phoebe went on to explain, "While they understand that their safety cannot be guaranteed in this line of work, I’ve ensured the protection of their anonymity post-war, should they survive. They will go anywhere they're assigned and their traveling expenses are covered by me."

"And you can ensure their loyalty?" Benjamin asked, looking to her with a frown. "It sounds to me like these men and women might be willing to be sold to the highest bidder. The reason I chose friends -- childhood friends -- is because I know our love will keep us from betraying one another. Loyalty can never be bought...what makes you so certain your price will sustain them?"

"How do you mean to use me? For your plans?"

“Use you? You’re not a pawn, sir. You’re a partner,” she insisted, “And you’ll function just as you do with your spy ring, except you’ll have mine at your disposal, whether you need intel from here in New York or anywhere else the British Royal Army has commandeered.” 

Wanting to ensure he at least drank something, she poured him a glass of ale and glanced at him expectantly, unwilling to take no for an answer. Then she reached for the nightstand, gathering a sizeable stack of papers and plopping them into Benjamin's lap.

“You’ve been smart to keep your group cautiously small, however, mine operates a little more vastly. These are extensive files on my agents, which you can browse more thoroughly in the morning, but they consist of what society would consider to be the less reputable sort. Harlots, homeless, servants, and slaves –those who empathize with the fight against subjugation. They’re the eyes and ears of every city and could tell you much in great detail."

Phoebe paused a moment, letting him sift through the paperwork.

"While my agents are under contract and steadily financially compensated for their contributions. While they understand that their safety cannot be guaranteed in this line of work, I’ve ensured the protection of their anonymity post-war, should they survive. They will go anywhere they're assigned and their traveling expenses are covered by me."

[floral-poisons]

fear for nobody

pairing: rook hunt x gn! reader word count: 3.5k words warnings: violence, politics, assassination notes: this takes place during my twisted wonderland high fantasy au! rook is vil’s most trusted assassin and you are part of the hidden organization as well. however, you soon realize that your childhood friend (and partner) has some reservations about this new job. the title is derived from the song of the same name by måneskin. ao3 link: 🏹🏹🏹

The trees provided shade from the hot sun. Today had been surprisingly hot, hotter than most days. It was only abnormal though and would last for this day only. Despite the heat of the day, your body was weighed down by dark clothes. “How much longer do we have to be here?” You ask, body leaning against the trunk of the tree.

“Only a little bit, dear (Y/N).” The blond answers, his crossbow still aimed.

“Why are we doing this in the day? Shouldn’t we be doing this at night?”

“We’re only supposed to kill the Viscount. And this is the only time he’s alone.” His green eyes blinked for a second. “At night, he’s spending time with his family and wife.”

“A family man. What a rarity. It’s a lot easier to kill when he goes out at night to see his mistresses.” You scoff. “Why do we have to kill him?”

“Dissent. Why else? He’s one of three heads for the Prince LeBlanche opposition. We must eliminate the threat before they rise.”

You straighten your back from the trunk. “He’s coming in.”

“I see.” He kept his composure, finger on the trigger. “Yes, yes. Keep walking like a deer in the woods.” Innocent. A family man. His wife would be devastated. His children devastated. An arrow shot through his body. He took a deep breath before his finger pressed down on the trigger.

— — —

“Good work there Rook. Nailed him right in the head!” You say as you get out of the carriage. By now it was dark. Besides, the estate was empty save for the servants.

“It is the only way to efficiently kill a man.” Rook steps out as well.

“Baron Hunt.” The butler bowed. “And (Y/N). I presume the assassination went successfully?”

“It did dear Reagan. You may store the weapons back in the basement. I will send a letter to Queen Schoenheit. Come dear (Y/N). Let me cook up some dinner!”

“Oh Rook. You don’t always have to cook.” You sigh. “Let me do it for once.”

“You’re my partner! Nonsense. You stayed in the hot environment with me the whole afternoon today. It’s the least I can do.” He smiles.

“You never change, do you?” You chuckle.

“I enjoy cooking for you. Why would I change?”

You purse your lips. “Are you okay?”

“I am okay. Why would you ask that?” Rook laughs nervously.

“Well you seemed…off today. Usually you’re more confident about killing our targets. Today was different.” You frown. “It’s not the first time either. You’ve been like this for the past few weeks. You even rejected a few assignments. What is going on?”

“Nothing (Y/N). I promise. We can resume this conversation at a later date.” Rook walked before you could say anything. Such a mysterious man this was even though you had known each other since childhood and been partners for years. He was hiding something and you were determined to get to the bottom of whatever was bothering him.

Before he set off to make dinner, Rook entered his study to sit down and write a letter to Queen Schoenheit detailing the assassination today. It went well which was to be expected from him. But as he sat down, writing, he couldn’t help but think about the fact that he had just widowed a woman and their children would be exposed to the assassination of their father. It was clear as day an assassination. “Great Seven.” He sighed as he rubbed his face, thinking back to your observations of him. The only answer he had to your question was that it was complicated. But even telling you was a bit risky. This was the kind of life he only knew, you only knew. You were both born in the business and you both were meant to stay in it and never leave. “I must stay focused.” He signs the letter before folding it and placing it in an envelope. He made sure to seal the letter with the wax seal of The Hunt of Hearts before putting it in the drawer and locking it.

— — —

“Rook! Rook! I got it!” You exclaimed, running across the green grass to the gazebo he was relaxing under. The weather was sunny and decently warm and he was enjoying a cup of tea with some snacks as he read a book. He desperately needed to catch up on his reading list. “I got it!”

“Oh you did?” He closes the book.

“The invitation for this year’s Spring Countryside Venture!” You set it down as you sit.

Rook used his dagger to open the envelope and look at the invitation. He took in a deep breath from the invitation. It smelled sweet of apple blossoms.

The acting monarch VIL SCHOENHEIT formally invites MARQUESS ROOK HUNT to a weekend away in the countryside to admire the fruitful lands of Pomefiore. The Marquess Hunt will be accommodated with servants, food, drink, sports, and his own bedroom. The invitee may bring 1 guest of their choosing and they will receive the same accommodations.

“Well, I’m sure the Queen is well aware of who I’m bringing along.” Rook smiles as he looks at you.

“Of course! Besides, people love buying my clothes while I’m there.” You finish coloring the sketch you were currently working on with watercolor. “Something about the countryside just makes them want to spend money.”

“Because everyone’s on vacation and their guard is down.” Rook leans over. “A blue and white ensemble?”

“Yes. It’s a simple color combination but it works extremely well. Someone’s bound to want to wear it when we leave for the Castle of Gold.”

“Well it’s quite regal but also simple. And you’re going for a simpler silhouette this time around?”

“They’re bound to make a comeback soon. Besides, I am the dressmaker for the Royal Court. You know that.” You smirk. “My outfits always make trends.”

“Of course dear (Y/N).” Rook took a sip of his tea before turning his head and noticing that Reagan was approaching the gazebo with a silver tray in his hand. He saw the glimpse of a beige envelope with a red seal. “Great Seven…”

“Master Hunt.” Reagan presents the envelope to Rook who takes it.

“Thank you Reagan. You are dismissed.” He purses his lips before using his dagger to open the envelope. The red seal could only mean one thing. “We literally just finished an assignment.”

“The grind never stops I guess.” You pour some tea in your cup before making it to your preference. Afterwards, you took a sip and it made you feel all warm inside.

Rook unfolded the letter and separated the multiple pieces of paper. “Well from the look of things, the Queen is satisfied with our assassination of the Viscount Cerf.”

“Who’s the next target?”

“The Earl Oiseau.” Rook hands you the profile and the letter. “The Queen wants a subtle death, something that seems accidental and looks like it was a medicinal accident.”

“Ah yes. Poison.”

“Also known as, (Y/N)’s specialty.”

“Yes. It is certainly my time to shine.” You read the papers and hand them back to Rook. “The Queen is moving up in the ranking though. And very quickly.”

“He’s trying to get rid of the most powerful influences for those opposing his rule as Queen.”

You dig through your bag and pull out another notebook. It was decorated to your preference and a lot of fabric samples stuck to the sheets of paper. On the outside, it looked like a normal fashion sketchbook. It just happened to be locked and protected by lethal poison that you were immune to. The sheets of paper were also laced with poison as well, which you were also immune to (due to your training, you’ve become immune to a lot of poisons especially your own concoctions). The cover snapped open with your key, revealing your personal journal of poisons and concoctions. Thank the Great Seven that your handwriting was so illegible that only you and Rook could read it (even so, Rook sometimes had a hard time despite his sharp vision). “Is there a deadline for this?”

“The Queen wants us to get rid of Oiseau before the Spring Venture.”

“That’s in a few weeks.” You look up at your partner with concern.

“Can we make it?”

“Well, Earl Oiseau has his annual dinner party around this time.” Rook raised an eyebrow.

“Oh…” You suddenly came to a realization. “Oh fuck! I forgot to put his wife into my schedule! She has dress fittings for the dinner! And we do this every year! How can I forget?!”

“That’s our way in.”

— — —

Your body was hot. Not from the weather but from embarrassment and stress. You had taken Rook’s large hand fan to fan yourself and have your own body cool down. You could feel yourself sweating through the underlayers of your clothes. What a fool. It’s a little bit ironic since you were a master at poisons and potions but when it came to scheduling, or anything else for that matter, you were completely lost. It wasn’t your specialty. The carriage pulled to a stop in front of a mansion and a woman came up to the door to open it. “Baron Hunt. (Y/N) (L/N). It’s a pleasure to see you. The Countess is excited that you both have arrived early.” The woman bowed her head.

“Thank you Sylvie.” You stepped out of the carriage. Rook came out after you.

“I will take care of your stuff. Baron Hunt, you may head to the gazebo in the gardens to catch up with the Earl. (Y/N), the Countess is waiting inside her dressing room. She is very excited to see what you have to offer this season.”

“I am sure she will not be disappointed!”

You had been here multiple times so you already knew the way to the dressing room. The walls were simple compared to other houses, white with a brown trim. The room you entered had floral wallpaper and sitting next to the window was the Countess. “Oh (Y/N)! You’re here!” She squeals as she stands and meets you for a hug.

“Countess! It feels like it’s been ages!”

“For a second, I thought you had forgotten about me.” She joked.

“I would never. It’s been really busy lately. Shall we sit and discuss?”

“Of course! Of course! I also have tea available and some snacks.” You sat down before pulling out your sketchbooks from your bag. They were set on the table loudly considering how dense they are. “I see it’s been a busy season.”

“It certainly has been. I’ve only had ideas and tons of fabric which is not great because then I continuously create. But here are some ideas I have for you—”

“Oh. I was thinking maybe…something different this time around.”

You looked at the Countess before leaning towards her in curiosity. “Spill.”

“I was hoping to go with something more…masculine this time around?”

“Masculine?”

“Yes. I've discovered a fondness for men’s clothes and dressing like my husband. At dinners I like to wear feminine clothing. But hunting, I like men’s clothing. It’s a lot more comfortable.”

“Hunting? You go hunting now Countess?” You pour yourself some tea and make it to your liking.

“Oh yes. I’ve started. Me and the Earl switched hobbies and discovered we like the other hobby. I do enjoy equestrian sports. I’ve even met a woman.”

You raised your eyebrows. “A woman?”

“Yes. She is absolutely gorgeous, you know. And I may or may not have had a kiss with her.”

You gasped. “Countess!”

“I know, I know. It is only fair though. My husband has been experimenting for years with other men, particularly those from his hunting party.”

“That’s great Countess!”

“So essentially for this dinner party, and for the Spring Venture, I would like a more masculine silhouette. Looser too. I’m tired of tight bodices and silhouettes.”

“I agree. It truly is suffocating. Shall I take your measurements now?”

Meanwhile, Rook sat under the gazebo, fanning himself at a rapid pace. It was beginning to be quite warm outdoors. He thought the one day where you two committed that daylight assassination would be the only hot day in the spring season. That proved to be false. An iced drink was the perfect remedy and thankfully he got his. It tasted minty and lemony, a perfect combination of refreshment. “Baron Hunt, it is a pleasure to have you over! We thought you wouldn’t be coming.” The Earl leans against his seat.

“Well how could we miss one of the biggest dinner parties of the season?” Rook smiles. His body felt heavy. He was tired, worked to the bone. He wanted to rest. Maybe he’ll get the chance when the Spring Venture came. The Roi du Poison didn’t make him work during then. “They’re quite magnificent. Your wife puts amazing detail in the decorations.”

“Oh you’ll be happy to know that I will be decorating this year! I’ve even chosen the theme!”

“Oh. Do tell.”

“Me and the Countess did a bit of a hobby switch. She took up hunting and I took up sewing and embroidery. It’s quite fabulous! Of course I pricked myself plenty but once I got the hang of it…well the designs say for themselves.”

“That’s amazing Earl. I presume you asked if you could take on her duty of decoration and theme and she said yes?”

“Of course! I had to decorate. It’s so much fun, you know! Quite a destressor.”

“At least you’re enjoying your hobbies.”

“Have things been stressful for you lately?”

“A little, yeah.” Rook stirred the straw in his cup.

“Is it the Queen?” The Earl raised an eyebrow. “I would expect nothing else from him.”

“Well what do you mean by that?”

“He’s like his mother.”

“The former Queen?”

“Obviously. Lacking in manners and etiquette. Everyone can see through his act. I’m surprised he’s managed to survive this long and hold so much power.” The Earl sips his iced tea. “Someone of his class status should remain off the throne, out of the court. His mother must’ve taught him well in the art of grabbing.”

Rook stayed silent and only took a sip of his drink. “The Queen has not been stressing me out. It’s more like I’m stressing myself out. You know. Kind of in the existential way.”

“Tell me more friend.”

Friend. The Earl just called him a friend. “Well with the legacy I’m inheriting…I’m just wondering if it’s all worth it.” Rook pursed his lips. “It’s so exhausting, my life. I wish only to live in isolation, away from…well, everything. Politics, business, gossip, everything. I want a cottage and to be able to just stay there and not think about how my actions are perceived every day.”

“Oh Baron Hunt. You amuse me.” The Earl laughs. “We do not choose this life. This life chooses us. And there’s no way of escaping.”

“But what if there was?”

“There isn’t. It’s too complicated even if you wanted.” The Earl looked up, seeing his butler approached who whispered in his ear. “Excuse me. I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Of course. Whatever you need.” Rook smiles and watches as the Earl stands and leaves. Making sure the Earl is out of his line of sight, he reached into his boot and pulled out a tiny vial of power. You had described it as odorless, tasteless, and easily dissolvable. The poison’s effects would be slow and your target would die days after the dinner party, after the two of you have left. It would look like a simple accident with the medicine the Earl was taking. His green eyes looked at the small vial of poison. A simple sprinkle of this in the Earl’s tea, a few stirs, and that was it. The cup of tea was right in front of him. But why couldn’t his arms move?

“I’m sorry. False alarm it turns out.” The Earl sat back down.

Rook hid the vial with a slight of hand before the Earl could see. He smiles. “No worries.”

— — —

“What do you mean you didn’t put the poison in his drink!” You exclaim.

“I…I didn’t. I just couldn’t. I don’t know how to explain it.” Rook ran a hand through his hair. You saw his forehead which was pale and had a bit of a tan line. You couldn’t focus on that right now though! “I couldn’t do it.”

“We are fucked! You know that right?” You scoff. “If we don’t get this done in time, the Queen is going to have a massive fit. And on top of that, our parents! And the leaders of the Hunt! Everyone will be on our asses and we will be disgraced! And it was so simple too!”

“(Y/N), I’m sorry. I…I will—”

“Fuck it. I’ll do it.” You scoff, picking up the vial. “I’ll do it. I have pill molds. And you can’t say anything! If we don’t do this we’re both in trouble, but more so you. Queen Schoenheit might even ask for your heart.” You looked at your partner. “We’re in this together. One way or another. I’ll put these in the Earl’s pills. They look identical to his medication. Problem solved.”

“...Problem solved.” Rook nods. “Don’t get caught.”

“This isn’t my first time. You know that.”

— — —

Rook turned the envelope to look at the wax seal. The seal for The Hunt of Hearts. Your mission had been successful. You received an invitation to the Earl’s funeral a few weeks after you visited, coincidentally just as you were about to enter the carriage to head to the Castle of Gold. Rook would personally visit the Queen and deliver him the letter. “(Y/N)—”

“Rook, we’ve been over this.” You adjust your deep purple ensemble. The two of you were matching since you were coming together. “It worked. That’s all that matters. The Queen will never know.”

“That’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

“Then what is it?”

“I…I don’t want to live like this anymore.”

“Live like what? An assassin?”

“Precisely.” Rook looks out the window. “I’m tired. I’m burned out.”

“Then it will pass.”

“Do you really think burn out for killing people will pass? I’m tired of this life. I want to do something else. I want to be somewhere else. Anywhere but here.”

“Rook, you know that’s not how it works.” You purse your lips. “Not unless we—”

“Fake our deaths. I’ve contemplated doing it. But it would have to be really good to pull it off. The Hunt knows when a death is fake.” He turns to you. “I just want to live peacefully and live a quiet life, away from the politics and complicated assassinations. A cottage would be nice. Some farm animals. And you.”

“Me?”

“Run away with me (Y/N).” He leans forward. “I’m certain I can make a convincing fake death for the two of us. And we’ll run away, away from all of this. A peaceful cottage, animals, and just the two of us. It’ll be peaceful. And we will never have to do anything like this ever again.”

“Rook…” You purse your lips. The idea was tempting. It was so tempting. This life was chaotic. But it was also all you knew. The idea of leaving was…terrifying. And if you escaped by faking your death, the punishment for getting caught would be so severe. “I can’t. I won’t.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I am loyal to the Hunt. I’m loyal to my family.” The carriage stopped and someone approached the door. “And I’m loyal to the Queen.” The door opened.

“Marquess Hunt. (Y/N) (L/N).” The man bowed. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Rook put the letter within his coat and exited the carriage. “Likewise old friend.”

“We shall take your things and put them in your room.” The man smiles as he helps you out.

The two of you watched as another carriage pulled in. This time with a crest you haven’t seen in a long time. “Wait. Is that!” You watched as the door opened and a boy with pale purple hair stepped out. Another person stepped out with him, dressed in much simpler clothes. “The Lord Cerise. It’s been how long?”

“A few years. He hasn’t been here.” Rook looks at the clear couple. “And it looks like he may have brought his partner too.”

The two of you immediately turned your heads upon hearing footsteps. It was none other than another noble of the court. They smiled but it lacked warmth. “Marquess Hunt. (Y/N) (L/N). It’s good to see you both arrived safely.”

“Likewise.” You nod.

“Now please follow me. The Queen requests to see you both immediately.”

[annemagus]

natural love potion; h.p.

Pairing: harry potter x fem!Gryffindor!reader Timeline: HBP / 6th year Warning(s): cussing, mentions of dying and blood, submission, reader pining Word Count: 5k

A/N: Hey there! This is my first ever post. I would love to hear your thoughts!

Harry and Y/N are friends. Just friends. Much like Harry and Hermione, there is nothing out of it that is going on between them. Not until that day in potions.

—

“Are you done with my potion?“

“You mean, will Professor Slughorn call you by your name? Then yes, Wallenby.“

It was the first week of another year at Hogwarts. New faces, new prefects and even new professors are introduced, as usual. Professor Slughorn is the newest addition to the faculty and to have a good first impression with the students, he's given the 6th years Amortentia, the love potion, as their first Potions homework.

They were supposed to put it in their selected food or drink and it had to be unnoticeable. Why would the Potions Teacher assign this kind of homework to the students? No one knows. But this certainly gave him a good first impression to a large number of students.

“Blimey Harry, we've been rotten at Potions ever since. Now look at you, it's as if you've taken private lessons with Snape the whole summer. You’re the bloody Potions Master in our year now!“

The two Gryffindors are making their way out of their dorm room towards the Common Room with Harry holding a small basket of cookies to bring it in the dungeons where the potions classroom is at. Y/N is patiently waiting for them near the Portrait as several students greet her along the way.

"G'morning."

“Where’s ‘Mione?“ Ron exclaimed without even acknowledging the girl’s presence.

“Uhm, shouldn't you know that, Mr Prefect?"

The male prefect then realized the time and his supposed agenda to escort first years to the Great Hall. Harry scolded him of how much he and others would kill to be in his position and yet he’s never given it any importance.

“Godric, have mercy on me. Hermione’s gonna kill me!” the redhead exclaimed after getting a playful slap behind his head from the Chosen One before rushing away from the two.

“Much worse than that, she’s gonna make him expelled,“ she jokes with a mouthful of cookie from the small basket Harry was holding. "Mhm, you have no idea how badly I've been craving cookies since last week! This is good, Har. Where’d ya buy it?“ 

Harry, before realizing what happens, freezes. He was too busy lecturing his best friend that he didn't notice a hand sneaking into his potion, the cookie. His hand slowly snakes its way to the contents of the basket that has supposedly four cookies but now has only three. “Y/N!“

"What?" she chuckles dreamily.

"We need to get you to the Hospital Wing."

“What for? You put poison in it, didn't you?“ Y/N continues to chuckle dreamily.

Harry stares at his friend as if she was some peculiar experiment. “How are you feeling, Y/N?“

“I feel like . . .“ she sighs dramatically as she gazes far away, mesmerized. The effects are plainly obvious. “I feel like falling.“

“Falling?“ Harry's stomach twisted. This is what makes Potions classes bothersome, the uncertainty of knowing whether the potion you brew is right or wrong. You can only know it if you’re a professional or by testing the potion done, which in Harry’s case, Y/N would do for him.

"I'm falling in love, Harry. I'm falling in love with you."

And boy was he really the Potions Master.

The raven-haired boy's cheeks got warm the second those words escaped his friend's lips. The two are only friends and have never acted more than that. Seeing this new side of Y/N for Harry is too foreign for him.

Sure, Harry has seen her date two boys from different houses, but being the recipient of her romantic antics has never crossed his path. His last romantical relationship, if you can call it that, was last year with the senior Ravenclaw Cho Chang. Even that didn't go well. He went on a single date with her just to make her believe he's in love with both Hermione and Y/N. Ever since then, he never thought about committing to any romantic relationship.

"Harry . . ." Y/N's hand reached out for his arm, grazing down slowly towards his hand with too much delicacy. Their hands are now intertwined. The both of them have never reached this close proximity, having learned now that one of his best friend's palms are soft but slightly calloused in the fingertips from playing muggle instruments and Harry fears that when Ron finds out about this act, he will tease them nonstop which isn't fair for Y/N. ". . . I know this may sound all too sudden, but, I have loved you ever since."

He didn't respond. He tries to block all of this sudden affection out of his mind knowing these are all artificial.

"Don't you love me back?"

"Of course I do. You're my best frie-"

If his cheeks were warm, now, his ears as well are on fire. Y/N has thrown herself to the flustered boy, locking his neck and face in her arms, squealing in happiness like a kid. Holding hands is a new thing for The Boy Who Lived but hugging him as if to let the world know he's someone's is another thing.

Very few people have ever hugged him in all the history of his 16 years of existence, knowing the story of his parents and the lack thereof. His godfather, Mrs Weasley and Hermione are the only ones — as far as he knows — written in a tiny piece of parchment of the list of people who have hugged him. Yet none of them could compare to this hug as those mentioned acted parental towards him.

Students are now starting to pass them out of the Common Room towards the Great Hall. One of those shouted, "get a room!" They're still standing just beside the Portrait Hole where Ron has left them both to deal with his own romance.

"Uhm, Y/N, why don't we go get ourselves some breakfast first, yes?"

"Yes! Let's tell 'Mione and Ron that we're finally together!"

—

Breakfast was agonizingly slow, to Harry's opinion. Y/N can't stop giggling beside him and feeding him like an infant earning them attention from the others.

"Oi, Potter! Didn't know that you two are . . ."" Seamus makes a kissing face earning a few cackles and sniggers from their other friends at the table.

The boy just ignored them with an eye roll, amusing the two friends in front of him.

"Leave them be, Harry. Besides, when was the time Y/N acted on you this way, huh?" They all diverted their gaze to the dazed girl. Eyebrows knitted in concentration as she feeds him but at the same time doing her best to get as close to Harry as the universe could possibly give her the opportunity to. They've never seen her this in love and affectionate. And the two thought that Harry just deserves it even just for a while. "Never, right? You better make it worthwhile."

"Thanks, Ron. Really helpful." He answered with his famous eye-roll.

"Always here for you, mate "

"I just don't get why we couldn't tell Professor Slughorn immediately. I mean, I'm sure he has something for Y/N. Or Madam Pomfrey-"

"Yeah? In which I'm sure is also your easiest ticket to detention."

The boy grunts some incoherent words of profanities under his breath. Not only was he getting embarrassed by the fact that one of his close friends is acting like his girlfriend but dragging Y/N along with his catastrophic life is just too unfair on her side. She didn't ask for this. Plus, detention in the second week of a new school year doesn't sound good.

The Brightest Witch reminded them not to take Potions lightly. It may sound like not the most helpful subject in a wizarding war, but can get you expelled once meddled with students. In short, what happened to Y/N is very illegal. You should not use or test your Potions project with another student. Plus, Filch will go nuts if he gets the news that a student gave another student a love potion.

“Well, at least, now we know that your Potion worked well.”

"Come on, we're going to be late for DADA."

On their way towards Snape's classroom — a fact Harry still can't accept — Y/N's fingers are interlaced with Harry's as they walk. She's given him her bag as that's what boyfriend and girlfriends do. In the classroom, Y/N didn't sit in her usual spot but literally kicked Ron out of his chair to sit beside Harry, the boy just mouths a sorry.

Her usual focus from the class was now inclined to Harry himself alone the whole class. Out of all their major subjects, Harry is known to have the Defence Against the Dark Arts class on top of it all. Y/N knows it, having been a member of Dumbledore's Army. Everybody knows it. But with Snape being the teacher and Y/N constantly caressing his left cheek every time Snape's back faces them, the said subject is somehow kicked out of its place on top.

"Y/N, do you mind?" He tried but obviously failed to ask her to stop in the nicest way he can utter. "I mean, it'll be really hard for us to pass DADA, and eventually NEWTs, if we're both distracted." His voice is hoarse and soft, one way or another. Afraid to hurt the girl beside him and cause a scene. Letting his former Potions Professor know his mischief doing is the least of his priorities for the day. Merlin, at least, let this day finish without anyone knowing.

"Harry, my love, it's not my fault your eyes are distracting. They're the most beautiful green not even the most beautiful forest in the world could compare to."

Once again, his cheeks and ears are on fire for the 37th time this morning. Most of the reasons are from the nonstop compliments he's receiving from the girl. It didn't take much energy from him to not believe all of it. He grew up with the Dursleys, they didn't fail to engrave in his mind his place and worth.

"Care to share in class what you're chattering about, Mr Potter?" The elder snarled in the middle of his discussion, letters extending out of his tongue as per usual. He finally notices, as always, Harry making another noise across the room.

"Nothing, Professor."

The said Professor narrowed his eyes to the duo. He knows, of course, he knows, he was a bloody Potions Professor ever since he accepted the job offered to him at Hogwarts.

"I'm saying this once and only once," he positioned himself in front of the two, now leaning to the Gryffindor boy to let just the two hear what he'll say. "Fix this, or you will face more vile punishment than getting expelled."

The class was dismissed with 50 points taken from Gryffindor. Harry is used to it, even his other fellow Gryffindors weren't surprised anymore. As a matter of fact, as long as he is breathing, infinite points will be deducted from their house.

As they were heading out of the classroom, Hermione gently peels the zonked out Y/N away from her grasp on the poor boy. "Harry, you can't let the other teachers know about this."

"Well, what do you suggest then?"

The next words that came out of her lips are like caffeine to the sleepy heads of Harry and Ron. They could not believe she could say such things. Even Y/N would have been gobsmacked if she just wasn't in a daze.

"Don't go to classes?" Her tone was laced with uncertainty. But she couldn't think of any other option, she'd rather let them take a day off classes than have Harry nor Y/N expelled.

"Can I come with them?"

— 

Harry Potter's Monday was bizarrely different from his usual ones. He has spent the whole day with Y/N trailing behind him like a baby duck. His hand used to be sweaty the whole time with her's but now, it felt more comforting than awkward interlocked with his.

The castle was quiet, with all the students in class, it gave him privacy and away from the prying eyes of malicious gossipers. They couldn’t get inside the Common Room as some 7th years are hanging there knowing they have fewer classes and more time for reviewing for their NEWTs, library; some teachers roam around there, Hagrid’s Hut; knowing Hagrid, as much as they love the guy, couldn’t keep his mouth shut from secrets.

As much as he dreads going to class all the time, it was strange to see the castle this quiet without Ron’s company.

He was throwing pebbles by the lake to pass time as Y/N sat on the ground behind him, making them their Charms essay homework.

The boy studies her features. Y/N wasn’t so bad. Her hair’s tidier than Hermione’s. She was actually beautiful. He would’ve taken her to the Yule Ball when Ravenclaw Cho Chang declined his invitation and if it wasn’t for that Slytherin bloke asking her out instantly - her first ex-boyfriend who Y/N dated a few months back. Her hair tucked in her ear as she focuses on what to write next in her essay. Harry feels bad for making her write his homework but the girl insisted. Guess you’d do anything for the people you love.

He looks back on the lake. Thinking of the people who have loved him did everything they could to protect him, even dying. First, his parents, then Sirius even Jesus, what did he do to deserve this fate. What good will it be if the people he loves are gone?

Two arms wrapped around his chest from behind startled him.

“You’re tense.” Y/N’s hand unwrapped his bloodied hand. He didn’t even notice he was gripping the stone tightly, his scarlet blood staining the object.

“It’s nothing.“ He cranes his neck to stare at the girl on his right shoulder. Her eyes are full of concern and love. Love that he created out of a goddamn potion for a goddamn homework. A love that could never be compared to the love of his parents and Sirius. A goddamn false love. His brows knitted before jumping out of Y/N’s embrace with panic.

“I think we can go inside now.“

The rest of the day consists of Harry, trying to ignore all of Y/N’s pining over him. He tries to remember that all of these are not her fault, there’s nothing to get mad at her about. Running away from her is also impossible as she committed herself to cling to Harry’s arm as if her life depends on it.

Finally, classes are over and dinner is approaching. The two are reunited with Hermione and Ron in a secluded area of a random hallway, as Harry was hoping to get less attention from other students as they got earlier at breakfast.

“How are the love birds?“ Ron teases, seeing their hands locked still.

“Oh, it was majestic, Ron! Harry took me to the Black Lake even though today was a school day. I feel a little rebellious, to be honest.“

“Good hiding spot.“ Hermione commented.

“I’m not going to the Great Hall for dinner. So you two can bring Y/N instead.“

“No! I’m coming with you!“

“Y/N aren’t you tired of my company yet?“

“I could never! I love you.“

Ron snickered pretty loudly in front of them, even Hermione couldn’t suppress a smile.

“Aren't you two just adorable?” the redhead continues to tease.

“Don’t worry Harry, Ron and I will bring you supper instead.“

The day has finally ended and the effects of the Amortentia, as what the favourite book of Harry says, wears off after 24 hours. It was past Y/N’s get up time but fortunately for them, she took her time sleeping exactly until the effects wore off. 

She moans with pain as she tries to sit up from her bed.

"How are you feeling?"

"'Mione?"

"It's me."

"I feel like a full construction site is inside my head . . . and I feel awful. Like, waking up on the wrong side of the wrong bed."

"Do you feel anything . . . unusual? Like, something or particularly someone you want to obsess about?"

The girl looks at her strangely and then at the time. "Bloody heck Hermione, aren't we late for breakfast?"

Clearly, Y/N remembers none from the incident.

Meanwhile, at the Great Hall, Harry is tapping his leg out of anxiousness. If his Amortentia was too strong and didn’t ease away, he might as well pack his belongings and leave Hogwarts voluntarily. His precious book from the Half-Blood Prince has mentioned the cure for a love potion but the ingredients are only held by the Potions Teacher. The horrors there will be once he mentions this to a teacher is unimaginable, he’d rather spend the day with a dazed Y/N than get lectures from a teacher.

“Don’t worry about your girlfriend, mate,“ Ron’s words are muffled from a chicken leg in between his teeth from across him. “They’re here.“

Across the Hall, the two girls are striding towards their place.

“Why are you at my seat?”

“Uhhh . . .” stammering, Ron glances at Harry for help. They were normally sitting beside each other but after the incident yesterday, they thought Y/N would love to sit next to the Golden Boy. “I-I don’t know either,“ just sliding to his side to make room for the two.

“How are you feeling, Y/N?“ Harry asks the dishevelled looking girl in front of him. Both Hermione and Ron - who are sitting side by side - are listening to the exchange intently.

“Honestly, I feel bad. Like, subconsciously, I know this day would be so bad,” Y/N sighs depressingly. “Why, are you alright?“

“Yeah,” deep inside the boy, a strong wave of relief passed him. His body was cold from the nerves, but knowing his Amortentia had finally worn off, those nerves were showered off of him with a warm relieving feeling. “Actually, I’ve never been better.”

“Well, at least one of us has woken up on the right side of the bed.“ she chuckles half-heartedly. Harry felt guilty hastily after hearing those words. It’s all your fault dipshit.

As Y/N is back to sitting beside Hermione, she is also back to her normal self. Talking to her alone about their Charms homework that she never remembers making and some other random stuff that the boys could not give a care about. She was back to not paying any attention to the Golden Boy at the front who she absentmindedly know is staring at her.

Morning supper was finished and the quartet is now in Snape’s classroom. Y/N was back to sitting beside the cute Hufflepuff guy she's been crushing on and Harry is back stuck with his blabbering best friend.

As Snape discusses some more non-verbal spells and the techniques, he takes time to stop rounding the class in front of Y/N who was again, back to her normal self, her focus never leaving the Teacher. He stares at her, looking past her eyes and seeing that his student’s consciousness is back before trudging towards Harry and Ron.

“10 points from Gryffindor,” he grunted under his breath, which actually is the first compliment Harry has ever received from the elder man.

Classes ended and dinner came, Harry finds himself staring at the girl in front of him. She was talking to Seamus, one of their good friends, chatting and laughing with him as if he'd said the funniest joke ever told. The food on his plate has long been forgotten.

"Quit staring, you creep."

Harry looks back at his best friend beside him with a mixture of confusion. "Don't tell me you think I wouldn't notice."

What the boy was talking about, he has no idea.

"When will you tell Y/N?" Again, he replied with a look. "About the incident, of course."

Harry wasn't planning on ending his friendship with Y/N because of his carelessness. He could've just sealed the cookies in a jar or box so no one could see it, but no. He had to display it for the world to see. Hermione disagrees with his plan, of course.

The three of them found the perfect time to be alone in the common room, students are still chatting and scampering about their day anywhere but their dorms. So they decided then, to tell Y/N what happened.

"So that's why I felt bad. Isn't that the after-effects of Amortentia?"

Three heads nodded in front of her, studying her features.

"Well, I'm glad it was you, Harry. Could you imagine if it was Ron?" Y/N visibly grimacing at the thought. "But to be honest, it was all my fault. I should've asked you first before eating it. Thank you for being honest with me, Harry."

It wasn’t really what the boy was expecting as a response. He was anticipating more anger or embarrassment from the girl.

Their usual cycle is back. Y/N was completely Y/N Y/L/N again it's as if nothing happened. The four of them never mentioned the incident again and Harry catches himself being disturbed with that. It made him feel some things like shouldn’t Y/N be shy around me? Or shouldn’t Ron tease us still about what happened? Or shouldn’t Hermione lecture us and watch over us more to not repeat the incident again? These thoughts run through his head as every day passes.

He also catches himself getting extra angrier at the Hufflepuff boy, Y/N’s crushing about, every time they have a Quidditch tournament. Especially that time when she barges in the Common Room pretty loudly yelling at everyone that she got a date with the cute Hufflepuff.

“Y/N can you help me find a good present for Mrs Weasley’s birthday on our next Hogsmeade trip?” He tried, one Friday morning, to get in between them.

“Of course, Harry! But, can we do it after my date?“

“Right . . . you have a date.” Sounding a tad bit more disappointed than he really is.

“But,” Y/N responded with the syllable dragging along “I could tell him to go on the next visit instead and spend the day with my best friend?”

“Oh no, I don’t want you to cancel your date because of me.”

“Harry, I could even cancel my Charms class, Godric knows how much I love that class but, that’s beside the point. What I’m saying is that I’m here for you. Also, we’ve barely hung out anymore ever since you’ve been the, what does Ron call it, ah, the Potions master!”

“Not you too!” he playfully grunted all too loudly earning a laugh from the girl.

"Seriously, I would love to come with you.”

He never thought he'd say this but he misses Y/N. His Y/N, who cannot keep her hands to herself but Harry’s.

And before he could stop himself from getting deeper into his thoughts, he was left astounded. To his knowledge, all feelings he has for his best friend are only platonic but here he is, couldn't stop himself from the thoughts of Y/N. The way she used to have her focus engraved to the boy alone and him alone. It gives him so much angst every time Y/N hasn't given him enough attention for the day.

If this stupid Amortentia incident leads him into any feelings he'd be in deep shit.

Because Harry should not be bothered to get distracted. Quidditch season is starting, he's got new people relying upon his captainship. Besides Y/N has her eyes on someone else and he cannot risk losing their friendship knowing his feelings aren't being reciprocated.

Well there it is, he's already in deep shit.

So when their first game arrived playing against Slytherin, he is rather surprised to see Ron winning them a high rank.

He knows he deserved the glory that's why as the captain of the team, he let them have the post quidditch game party in their common room. The parties were usually lead by the twins, but knowing they're already gone, he didn't know that his fellow housemates apprehended their festivities.

"Weasley! Weasley!"

They watch as Ron finally gets recognition for his own efforts alone. Y/N was nowhere to be found, probably with her new boyfriend, and Hermione was shattered when Lavender Brown smothered Ron with kisses.

The two are in a random staircase trying to comfort one another. He doesn't know who needs more comforting, Hermione or him. Knowing he already lost someone who's never his also shattered his heart.

"How does it feel, Harry? When you see Y/N with another guy?"

To say that he's dumbfounded was an understatement. He couldn't be that careless with his so-called feelings now, is he?

"I know. I see the way you look at her. You two are my best friend."

He dreaded this conversation happening. The Golden Boy has never intended on developing feelings toward his friend. Unlike Hermione and Ron, the two have been having this romantical tension ever since their first year. His feelings toward Y/N is purely conjured by an incident they never dared to speak about. The boy believes that these stupid feelings of him will only break their friendship and Harry's not risking that.

"Why don't you try something?" Hermione is always the one they go to whenever they need help and whenever they're clueless about the next step. But this, this advice of hers is definitely one Harry's scared to listen to. "Hufflepuff boy is still not making any moves yet. You know, you're valid to think about yourself too. You've always thought about the others, you always prioritize us before yourself. You deserve to live too, Harry."

So Harry did listen.

In the Great Hall, he confided himself to sit beside Y/N all the time. Hermione doesn't mind the changes in their seating arrangement as she gets to sit with Ron anyway, so candidly speaking, it is a win-win situation for everybody.

He starts small, playfully feeding her (the way she used to), talking and listening to her talk about life in general. When they were walking towards their class, he would always offer to carry her bag, in which he never really waits for her response. Intermittently inviting her to do homework by the lake alone together. And every time they have Hogsmeade visits, he would buy her sweets at Honeydukes.

And Y/N notices. It didn't really take her long before she sees. She has convinced Hermione one night to tell her of her doings that day she was under Amortentia. Harry's new behaviour towards her has perfectly mirrored the story Hermione has told her.

Little did Harry know, the feelings eventually have been mutuals.

So when the Golden Boy was informed of this Christmas Party Professor Slughorn has assembled, he didn't hesitate to ask Y/N in an instant, too afraid that Yule Ball night might happen again. He was, for once, too grateful to be part of the Slug Club as Hufflepuff Boy was not part of it. Now that just minimizes his crush problem.

He has seen her in a ball gown back in their fourth year for their Yule Ball. But he never got the chance to be the one standing beside her throughout the night but now, tonight, he feels like the luckiest man.

Standing on the top of the stairway from the girls' dorm room was his best friend he never had feelings before until this year. She wasn't wearing the grandest of gown there is but this simple dress enhanced her features. She was walking down the stairs with a smile that gave a huge impact on how she looks. She was literally glowing.

"Hi."

"Y/N," he breathed, completely in awe of what feelings do to people.

He always sees Y/N every day, talks to her and laughs with her. She sees her perfectly like what normal best friends do. But after developing feelings for her, his mind is persuaded that she was the most beautiful person that walked on the planet.

Harry is infatuated. He felt as if he was under some spell. Is this how Y/N sees him, all those times she was under the love potion?

But Harry was sure, a hundred per cent, that this is not artificial feelings. He really likes her.

So after a very successful Christmas date, with Hermione being their third wheel, the two were back from being hip to hip. Harry was glad his Y/N is back. He's been wearing the pride of not having to use a love potion to get her back beside him. Because this time, Harry did not create an artificial love to make the girl he likes, like him back. This time, he did it right. He just needed to wait for the right time and place to ask her.

Christmas has passed and Harry's time is also running fast. Of course, his special assignment with Dumbledore has never left his mind. He would do the subtle talks with Professor Slughorn here and there. He felt as if he's running out of ideas to get what he needed and to make things worse, the Potions Master is already growing annoyed with him.

"Still no luck with Slughorn, then, I take it?"

"Luck . . . That's it. All I need's a bit of luck."

That evening, Harry was away the whole time. He missed dinner but Y/N waited on him in the common room. She knows that the Felix Felicis potion has no limits. Whatever the user's deepest desires, it will help give it to them. Y/N knows that at this very moment, Harry succeeded. She makes sure that there will be someone waiting on him to celebrate it with him.

Harry came back from the Headmaster's office bearing a report about Slughorn's memory with Tom Riddle. There, in the Gryffindor Common Room, he sees her sleeping in one of the tables far back. It was not hard to see her, with the time obviously past bedtime, she was all alone.

With the liquid luck still pumping in his veins, he rushed to her. Kneeling in front of her, the Golden Boy then gently wakes the girl up.

"Harry?"

"Y/N . . . I think I'm falling"

"Falling? What falling? Are you experiencing vertigo right now? Anxiety?"

"Worse than those."

And Y/N, moving on from her sleeping state, was now fully aware of where the conversation was going. She holds his inviting hand. "What is it, Harry?"

"Love . . . I'm falling in love."

Y/N smiles at how adorable the boy is looking right now. His hair is ever so dishevelled and his lips as red as cherry. He was the most oblivious boy she knows. Has only dated one yet here he is, kneeling in front of her. Confessing.

She knows that Felix is helping him with some luck because knowing the sober Harry, he would never be bold enough to say such things. Little did Harry know, he need not some luck as she was all too blessed to have him in her life. Because to Y/N's honest opinion, in this room, she was the luckiest.

"I'm falling in love with you, Y/N."

—

(Shamefully) tagging these amazing ppl: @harryjamespotterxreader​ @harrypotterxx​ @catching-the-train-to-hogwarts

[turtlethon]

“Donatello’s Degree”

Season 4, Episode 31 First US Airdate: November 3, 1990

Donatello and Irma visit a university campus that houses a villain’s evil scheme.

Our journey through Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles season four continues with “Donatello’s Degree”. This is the second episode of the show written by Jack Mendelsohn, following on from “Raphael Knocks ‘em Dead”.

Things kick off today with Splinter guiding the Turtles through some Mr. Miyagi-style cleaning of the Lair. Not joining the team is Donatello, who has been excused so that he can study for his upcoming exam on “binary cyberion generators”. Or so we’re told...

Donnie declares that he has, in fact, completed the exam paper we were just told he was preparing for. He makes a brief journey to the surface to mail it off to the correspondence school, noting that this is the hardest part of the course. (I think this is supposed to make it seem as if the course was easy for him, but the other way to read it is that he finds the act of mailing a letter hard?)

A timelapse montage follows. Two whole weeks pass and Donatello impatiently waits to learn if he’s been successful. This is an unusual thing to see in TMNT ‘87, where everything tends to be immediate and happening in the moment. Finally, the response from Sopho U arrives. Professor Filo Sopho himself personally writes to congratulate Donnie on graduating with the highest grades on record. He’s asked to attend a special event at the University, where he’ll receive his degree in person, but there’s a problem: due to an administrative error, the letter is addressed to “Miss Donna Tello”. The other Turtles, who up until this point have been nothing but supportive, shrug it off as being too bad, and wander off.

Undeterred, Donatello begins trying to figure out a way around this issue. Any normal person – and surely a supposed genius like Donnie – would just contact the University, tell them there was a mistake and have it corrected. He could tell them that his name is Don A. Tello! Instead, he hatches a plan that’s needlessly complicated. Ridiculously needlessly complicated.

Irma is cooking in her apartment when she becomes aware of an intruder sneaking in through the window. It’s Donatello, who she almost ends up battering with a frying pan. He explains that he needs her to assume the identity of Miss Donna Tello on his behalf, showing her the envelope that his letter arrived in. (If you’ve ever wondered where exactly the Turtles live, their address is shown as 4222 Sewer Lane, Big City, another indicator that at some point this season the decision was made to downplay the show being set in New York for... reasons?)

Donatello’s pitch does nothing to move Irma, until he mentions that the campus is full of single guys. This visibly activates something in her brain, and she drags him off to collaborate on the scheme.

Irma travels by train, accompanied by Donnie who hides in her luggage. Upon arriving at the station, she’s met by two bespectacled men in lab coats, who introduce themselves as acting on behalf of Professor Sopho. They offer Irma a ride to campus in their limo, tossing her luggage in the trunk of the vehicle.

At Channel 6, Burne assigns April to investigate strange goings-on upstate at Bottomless Lake, which has suddenly become over-run with fish. Vernon offers to tag along, but has a change of heart when Burne points out that the minnows could become vicious. April drags him off anyway to begin their investigation.

Far from looking like a modern education facility, Sopho U is operating from an old castle near the lake. Irma is getting settled in her room when Professor Sopho arrives to greet her, forcing Donatello to hide in the closet. Sopho’s assistants also show up to serve Donna Tello’s favourite foods, as per her application form: “pizza, pizza and more pizza”. Feels like an odd thing for a school offering correspondence courses to have on their forms, but let’s move on.

Just to remind everyone that the other Turtles still exist, we briefly see them continuing to clean up the lair. Michaelangelo trips over a metal bucket full of soapy water, which ends up on his head. We now return to your regularly scheduled “A-plot”.

Donatello lurks in the corners of Sopho U and cringes as Irma flubs her way through a guided tour of the campus with the Professor. He’s intrigued by the University’s ownership of a hexadecimal transducer and begins examining it when the Professor’s assistants spot him snooping and confront him. Donnie doesn’t view the two men as a threat until they tear off their lab coats to reveal they’re both terrifyingly jacked. The henchmen pick up some large pieces of equipment and are about to pummel our hero as act one ends.

As we return from commercials, the two men attempt to batter Donatello, but end up hitting the hexadecimal transducer instead. Donnie dives out of a nearby window and almost falls into the lake below, losing his bo in the process. Nearby, April and Vernon arrive in the news van and find hordes of fish washed up on the edge of the lake. Vernon wastes no time in abandoning his assignment, rushing into the water to begin scooping up his future seafood with his net. One particularly large catch jumps up and wraps itself around his head, causing him to stumble until April reels him in. He suggests mouth-to-mouth resuscitation might be in order and April agrees, before tricking him into locking lips with one of the fish he scooped up.

Back in the Lair, the Turtles continue their spring cleaning subplot, sprawled out in the living room and exhausted. We’re introduced to Max, Michaelangelo’s fish and his second pet to debut in the space of three episodes, before Splinter arrives to ask if anyone knows where Donatello is. Mikey suggests he’s likely to be hanging out in the library.

In a unique spin on the fourth wall break, the next scene opens with Donatello dangling from the window of Sopho U’s tower, where he declares that “Michaelangelo was right – I am hanging out at the library!” He climbs back onto a ledge and watches through a window as Professor Sopho shows Irma the library’s vast selection of books, which he claims includes “every book ever written on every field of science known to man”. Yeah, sure thing buddy.

Donatello loses his footing as the ledge beneath him crumbles, sending him falling into the lake below. He lands in a pile of fish and is now more convinced than ever that something underhanded is going on.

We return to the Lair, where Max is swimming around in his bowl erratically and the Turtles are becoming concerned. Max eventually bounces out of the lair and joins his brethren in heading upstream. Michaelangelo follows the parade of fish through the sewers, with Leo and Raph following close behind.

Having completed their tour of the campus, Professor Sopho reveals to Irma that he’ll make an “earth shaking announcement” at the University’s ceremony that evening. When Irma enquires as to what this means, he suggests that as a genius, she must have already figured it out.

Donatello sneaks around the campus some more until he finds a “giant galvanometric oscilloscope”, a machine big enough to change the molecular vibrations of the Earth’s core. This is why the fish have all been drawn to the lake, as the machine’s high magnetic frequency attracted them. He views a computer simulation that reveals Sopho’s plan: to cause the planet to spin so rapidly that everything on it is flung off into space. Donnie rushes off to warn Irma, but accidentally activates a security system that sends a guard robot after him. The robot captures our hero and is about to pull him into its metal jaws as the second act wraps up.

The final act opens with Donatello evading the now-multiple security robots, tricking them into grabbing a power line that overloads their systems. Now free, he resumes his original plan.

At a formal ceremony for Sopho U’s Class of ‘94, Professor Sopho addresses the assembled scientific graduates, asking them to enjoy their meal before quietly adding that it’ll likely be their last on this planet. Meanwhile Donnie has acquired a waiter’s outfit and is serving the guests. He writes a note for Irma telling her that she’s in trouble and must leave now, then... places it between two slices of bread and offers it up to her as a sandwich. Donatello rolls his eyes as Irma eats the sandwich instead of reading the note.

Vernon is back to being a cameraman today, filming April as she wraps up her report on the lake’s unusual influx of fish. The duo is greeted by Mikey, Raph and Leo, who emerge from the water having followed Max’s path. Burne messages April to provide her with her next assignment, covering Professor Sopho’s big announcement at the nearby campus.

Donnie meets up with Irma and attempts to explain to her that Professor Sopho is bad news. She doesn’t take this well, having bought into the Professor buttering her up and suggesting that perhaps Donatello is actually jealous of the attention she’s getting. Now convinces that Sopho’s announcement will involve offering her a job, she ends the conversation and wanders off. The two henchmen then confront Donnie again, dropping a sack over him and tying him up with chains.

The Turtles stay behind in the news van as April and Vernon head into Sopho U to cover the ceremony. They’re understandably surprised to see Irma of all people sitting next to the Professor as he makes his big announcement: that Miss Donna Tello will be joining him as his partner for his next big experiment. April quizzes her friend as to what’s going on, leading to Irma asking Sopho if April can become the third partner in their project. He rejects this idea, dragging her down a winding hallway.

Sopho reveals to Irma that the two of them will be “safely ensconced in [his] subterranean laboratory” while his galvanometric oscilloscope spins everyone else off the Earth’s surface. The two will then become supreme rulers of the planet. Now finally convinced Donatello was right, Irma springs into action, pulling a lever that sends the elevator that was carrying them to the lab into reverse. It flies through the roof, and after the doors open, she makes a hasty exit.

The Professor insists he’s unfazed by this development, declaring that he’ll rule the world on his own. He adds that Irma shouldn’t bother trying to stop him, as he puts the oscilloscope on “permanent spin cycle”.

Irma finds Donatello chained to the oscilloscope as it powers up. She apologises for her earlier behaviour and begins looking for a way to free her friend. Meanwhile the other Turtles watch from outside as day turns to night then back to day again in the space of seconds, while panicked attendees of Sopho’s ceremony spill out of the campus. Inside, April films a report alongside Vernon, confused as to whether she’s there for the 6am or 6pm news as the sun rises then falls outside repeatedly.

The Turtles find Irma with Donnie, and Leonardo quickly uses his katana to slice up the chains. They open up the control panel for the oscilloscope, but Donatello can’t see a way of shutting it off without specialised equipment. He grabs a hair pin from the side of Irma’s head and uses this to deactivate the machine, slowing the Earth’s rotation back to its normal rate.

We close things out in the Lair, where the Turtles watch April report on today’s events. She reveals that Professor Sopho and his two henchmen have been arrested on charges of “worldwide revolution”. Splinter congratulates the team, and in particular Donatello, who feels that he really earned his degree. We end on a gag about Max refusing to obey Michaelangelo. Actually, “gag” may be pushing it, Mikey’s just mad and is barking orders, that’s the whole bit.

On paper, I really like the idea of “Donatello’s Degree”. A spotlight episode centred around my favourite Turtle and favourite supporting character teaming up seems like a slam dunk. I can fully get behind the idea of Donnie and Irma running around a college campus getting caught up in a comedy built upon lies and misunderstandings. The actual execution starts off strong but quickly goes south as Sopho U doesn’t look or feel like a real institute of education, and is somewhat removed from the usual New York – sorry, “Big City” - trappings of the show. It’s a different and less compelling approach to the concept than I would have wanted.

Irma is back in the forefront here, having largely been demoted back to being April’s occasional tag-along buddy for most of this year with the exception of "Name That Toon" (and to some extent its sequel, “Menace, Maestro Please” and maybe “Turtlemaniac”). Jack Mendelsohn seems to have a good handle on her character from a comedic perspective, her motivations and flaws. I wish she had been allowed to have a more proactive role in the ending, perhaps being the one to suggest using the hairpin as a tool to show she’s not completely useless and to give her some redemption in this story; Donatello didn’t need to be the one to come up with that idea, we already get that he’s smart and useful, we see that in almost every episode.

The whole idea that Donatello has been working to get his degree via correspondence course is intriguing to me. How is he paying for this? (We don’t know how the Turtles make money at all – my headcanon is that they do odd jobs helping the many friends and allies they’ve met throughout the series, but I assume this degree course would have cost a substantial amount.) Is Sopho U even a legitimate university given that it’s been owned and operated by a criminal this entire time? Is Donatello’s degree even worth the price of the paper it’s printed on? What is his endgame here – who's going to employ him?

Am I overthinking all of this? Yes. That’s the Turtlethon way.

Structurally the non-Shredder spotlight episodes are starting to feel repetitive in their own right: they all have one member of the team get drawn into their own adventure while the other three Turtles putter around in the Lair until the third act, then everyone reunites for the big finish. I’d like to see some more imaginative variations on this: there must be other ways to have one Turtle do their thing for a whole episode while keeping the others in the mix.

I should also point out that Professor Sopho is yet another mad scientist villain, something that we’ve definitely had our fill of as season four approaches its end. He joins Mendelsohn’s Pinky McFingers in being one of the rare antagonists introduced this year that absolutely no-one was clamouring for a return of but who gets one anyway: we’ll see the Professor again in season six’s “Too Hot to Handle”.

NEXT TIME: Your weekly Wise arrives in the shape of "The Big Cufflink Caper!"