Candy Hearts


Based on the word “Inevitable”

Draco’s eleven.

He’s gasping lungs and cracked open ribs as he clutches the acceptance letter in his pocket and glances up at the frost laced rooftops of Diagon Alley, realizes that there’s an entire world beyond the manor walls and he hadn’t even realized it.

He’s eleven and catching sight of her through shop window reflections like crystal balls. Dragging himself into Florish and Bots because there’s curiosity, no, interest, no, enchantment, maybe, ebbing like magic through the whorls of his fingertips. And she’s in his peripheral, schoolbooks clutched to her chest and smile soft, eyes wide and lashes fluttering. Luminescent in the light filtering through the window.

Draco watches as she rolls her sleeves up to her elbows and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, strains on her tiptoes to reach a book on one of the higher shelves and –

“Here,” he says, grabs the book and slips it into her hands. Ignores the spark that catches between their fingertips and tugs, oh yes, he’s close enough to see the color of her eyes like rainbows reflected through a prism, the butterfly soft smile that traps itself against her mouth as she meets his eyes –

Says her name, “Y/N,” like wind chimes or a symphony.

And Draco thinks that it might as well be a spell.


Draco’s twelve.

He’s glances cast across a classroom, over his shoulder, when he hopes that nobody is looking. Fingers brushing and elbows knocking and, “Excuse me, I didn’t watch where I was going.” He did, and he’d be lying if he said that touching her felt anything less than a charm.

He’s twelve and he’s the pride swelling in his chest at his first Quidditch match when he can hear her somewhere below him, cheering his name. He tells her that she’s his good luck charm the next day, doesn’t quite catch the blush that suffuses her cheeks before he turns away.

But it’s the last day of term and she’s slipping by him in the train corridor and, “Have a good summer, Draco,” she says, hesitates, brushes her lips against his cheek.

He hadn’t quite believed in magic, until then.


Draco’s thirteen.

He’s Blaise’s snickering and Pansy’s knowing looks and jealousy, hot and potent, bubbling like a potion he hadn’t managed to get right in his stomach as Cormac McLagen smirks and smiles and sidles up beside Y/N in the Great Hall during breakfast one day.

He’s thirteen and he’s fucking captivated as snowflakes dust Y/N’s lashes and the wind twirls the ends of her scarf, as she wipes butterbeer from her upper lip and giggles at something that one of her friends whispers into her ear.

“I’ll help you back,” he offers, seizes a chance, when her friends have run ahead of her on the path back to the castle.

And she smiles at him, tucks an arm through the crook of his elbow. Tells him about the trouble she’s been having in Transfiguration lately and if she can’t figure it out her parents will have her head for sure and –

“I can tutor you, if you’d like,” he says, wonders if Blaise had spiked his pumpkin juice with Felix Felicis that morning. Hopes that she can’t feel his heartbeat through the jut of his elbow.

“I’d love that,” she replies.

And he can’t quite believe his luck.


Draco’s fourteen.

He’s library desks cluttered with books and ink blotches, Madam Pince’s furious hushing when he and Y/N forget to be quite. The way light streaks and shimmers around her, distorted as though they’re drowning in the Black Lake.

He’s fourteen and strangely, oddly hopeful as he clasps her fingers, marvels at the fit of her hand in his, shows her the correct hand motion and heart stops, starts, stutters when she doesn’t quite pull away.

“I aced my last test,” she tells him, runs towards him in the corridor, throws her arms around his neck till he can feel her heartbeat crash against his.

“I guess you don’t need a tutor anymore then,” he says. A frown is burgeoning on the cusp of his mouth.

“No, no,” she says hurriedly. “I still do.”

And he isn’t sure why he hasn’t transfigured this, them into something else yet.


Draco’s fifteen.

He’s the firewhiskey on his lips and the castle floor on the palms of his hands as he reaches forward and spins the bottle yes, hopes, wonders, waits as it spins, spins, lands on her, oh yes.

He’s fifteen and he’s the lip-gloss on her lips, the way they crash head on like a train-wreck, a car crash and he doesn’t have an algorithm for this: him, her, the kiss.

Because her mouth fits neatly against his and she tastes like melted sugar, like cotton candy, all soft edges and fluttering pulse points. His eyes are closed and he can’t quite believe/ only he can, he’d rigged the game.

Afterwards, afterwards, afterwards:

He pulls her into a broom cupboard and threads his fingers through her hair, tastes butterbeer on her tongue and feels his tonsils glued together because this is a secret and he can’t quite find the right words to say.

But things are different, they’re different and he holds her hands as he walks her to class, kisses her across the tabletop in Honeydukes and grabs her, twirls her after Quidditch matches. He wraps his scarf around her neck and they pass notes in class, sit at the top of the astronomy tower at night and map out the handful of constellations that they know.

It’s this: him, her, and how he hadn’t anticipated that the winds would change.


Draco’s sixteen.

He’s late night kisses and early morning platitudes, worried questions and, “Draco, I know something’s wrong.” The mark on his arm and the worry that’s coiled tight in his gut as he attempts to keep it covered up.

He’s sixteen and he’s breaking, the world too heavy on Atlas’ shoulders. Because he has a noose around his neck and he can’t do it, can’t, can’t, can’t.

They lose their virginity to each other the night before he’s meant to kill Dumbledore. And it’s like falling through a pensieve to a memory he didn’t know he had; soft lips and rolling hips and gasps, teeth, fingers fit neatly in the groove of her waist.

Here’s how it goes:

A girl, a boy, a tragedy. He’s Icarus and she’s the sun and it’s not her that kills him, oh no, it’s the ocean and melted wax dripping down his back.

He tells her ‘I love you’ before he tells him ‘I have to kill you’.

And there’s a green light and he’s Gatsby and he’s never managed to reach what he wanted, no, has only ever been a cautionary tale.

He’s sixteen and he’s a mistake, a heartbreak, the boy who made all the wrong choices.


Draco’s seventeen.

He’s the shards of a broken chandelier stuck in his mouth, his hands, vocal chords torn to ribbons as lights flash green and screams echo through the hallowed corridors of the manor. The letters he’d sent her that don’t have a reply, the ragged stitches of a heart never meant to mend.

He’s seventeen and the room of requirement is burning around him, life flashing before his eyes, flames licking at his heels. It’s her, her, her. And Crabbe’s gone, the room is charred but it’s not over yet, is never over.

There’s blood on his hands and in his throat when he sees her again. When he grabs her, yells, watches as a Death Eater’s body crumbles to the floor.

Her palm is sweaty against his, breaths ragged and tears sooty.

There’s a war raging around them and he finds that he doesn’t quite care.


Draco’s eighteen.

He’s the faded mark on his arm and the ring in his pocket and the happiness – cautious, unsure, new – that permeates the walls of his new home with her. Because the war is over and the world is still turning.

He’s eighteen and he’s a happy ending, maybe, a fairytale that didn’t quite end with them riding off into the sunset but ended like this instead: him and her and he thinks that that’s all he ever really needed.


{5.1.16} {7.55pm} Spent all day working on decorating my new school books. Didn’t do alot on this lazy Tuesday and it was nice! Tried to post this about 4 times so if this has been one my feed multiple times don’t be surpised.

Link to make the watercolour notebook:

Second gift for @pumpkinspicekevinday  for the @tfcsecretsanta !! Hope you have great holidays if you celebrate!! :*:.ヽ(*゜▽゜*)ノ。.:*:.゜★


At first, nobody even noticed Neil using his notebooks for sketches until a few stray papers had fallen from one of his schoolbooks. Back then, Andrew had gotten a glimpse of what seemed to be doodles of fox paws, foxes, cats and Exy but he hadn’t paid much attention.

He’d shrugged it off as stress relief or boredom.

Now, when Neil was asleep on his bunk with his notebook open in front of his head, however, he couldn’t ignore it.

Not when the thing on the page was himself.

Andrew tugged at the notebook until it was in his hands, careful enough so he wouldn’t wake Neil up. He sat on the floor with his back to the wall and with a perfect view of the bed. Just in case Neil got a nightmare because this week was definitely a bad one for him.

Being snoopy had always been a way to ensure the safety of the person Andrew was protecting. A way to know his enemy and a way to find hidden dirt, to manipulate.

This snoopiness was just plain curiosity that he wouldn’t admit to having.

Now that Andrew had a close look, he realized that it wasn’t a notebook but a sketchbook used as a notebook. The page before the drawing Neil had been working on was filled with notes from a Literature lecture where each sentence was written at a different angle and size.

Not that he paid any mind to them.

No, his gaze was on Neil’s version of himself.

Andrew wasn’t a person who was vain, he just wore black clothes he was comfortable with and intimidating in. He didn’t give two shits how he was, only knew that he had some good looks. He didn’t care how others perceived him.

(He should have guessed that his traitorous mind would make Neil another exception.)

There were a few versions of him on the page – a side view, a center view and something halfway through both.

It was a face he was deeply familiar with – for one, he’d lived with it since he was born; second – his twin had the same one. They were both shadows and hard and sharp edges.

This, the way Neil saw him, had almost nothing of that. It was all smooth curves and soft lines from a perspective he’d never seen. The fact that it was realistic and actually good made a bigger impact.

Because when he flipped through the pages, the only sketches that weren’t half-assed, uneven or too hurried shapes were Andrew’s. Every time Neil had put him on paper, it was down to the smallest of details. From the slight tilt Andrew held his head in to the small and easily overlooked scars to the right side of his chin and over his left eyebrow.  He’d even seen a few colored versions of his eyes where every speck and color placement was identical to the original.

Andrew looked them all over, mentally cataloging the increasing percentage Neil was at.

And he wondered.

He wondered at the warmth that had nothing to do with the room temperature. He wondered at the enigma that dumb idiot was.

Then he flicked through the pages quickly, in case he missed something, and got to the last two.

There, he saw something like a timeframe. Himself, with his back propped on the Maserati, one hand holding his flip phone while the other held his cigarette in his mouth. The drawing on the right was almost the same, only he had pocketed the phone and was lowering the cigarette. The third and last one was of him blowing smoke out of his mouth, chin tilted upwards, staring at the person in front of him, presumably Neil.

What caught him off guard was the fact that the only heavily detailed thing was Andrew’s face. Everything else was just quick lines that indicated a form, nothing more.

Not his arms or torso or legs or any other part of him. His face.

Maybe the only part of his body that he didn’t consider sexual due to his lack of any expressions whatsoever.

Not only that, but Andrew’s eyes were literally the sole thing that had more than four or five lines. In all the drawings he had seen of himself, the eyes were the detail that always got in the center of attention.

And Andrew thought.

He thought about their first conversations back when Andrew was drugged off to fucking La-la land all day, every day. He thought of their progression through the months. The bus ride before Baltimore full of Neil’s truths. The hotel after Baltimore. A month ago. A week ago. A day ago. Five hours ago.

Neil always looked him in the eyes – back then and in present time as well.

That was the first thing Andrew had hated the most about him. Because everybody else avoided doing it.

Not Neil.

He held his gaze whenever they had eye contact, never shying away or fearing Andrew’s cold disdain or indifference.

He racked his memories for a time when Neil had stared at him the way Nicky lusted after strangers but he came empty handed. Neil never looked until he had explicit permission.

Andrew had never caught Neil gawking at him, only stolen glances here and there to see his body language and nothing more. He always looked him in the face first. He was nothing like them.

Andrew had known that before but having it thrown in his fucking face was a completely different thing.

He placed the sketchbook next to Neil’s pillow, unable to stop himself from looking at Neil’s peaceful expression.

“I fucking hate you.” he whispered.

Still, he lifted his hand to shift the unruly bangs away from Neil’s eyes.


to whom it may concern

please find attached a replication of the original egg nog sign, for all your egg nog purposes

yours truly,
the christmas patch

Give me domestic!dad!Tony and his spider son

Give me casual gifts (new camera, schoolbooks paid and Aunt Mays car fixed)

Give me Tony fetching Peter from school and taking the scenic route to the Tower/Compound

Give me lunches at greasy diners and Donuts for desert (don’t tell your aunt)

Give me Peter having access to Tonys living quarters and workshop, his stuff showing up in odd corners (school books on the kitchen table, a sweater draped over a workshop chair, a comic pushed under the couch)

Give me Tony teaching Peter about engineering and mechanics, showing him his projects and the inner workings of the Iron Man suits (happy to make time for the curious teenager nothing like Howard Stark)

Give me Tony patiently helping Peter with homework or a project that just won’t turn out like it should (please, please you’ve GOT to help me, the deadline is TOMORROW)

Give me Peter filling Tonys (quiet, lonely) living space with overly dramatic recounts of boring school days, excited nerd talk and hyperactive, superpowered teenager antics

I need this

Dear European writers of history schoolbooks,

Please learn to talk about slavery without immediately mentioning abolitionism, stop pretending like it’s okay now because we fixed it.

Submitted by Anonymous   


Pages from a 1710 school ledger by Philadelphian Grace Hoopes. Her penmanship and flourishes are remarkable! And check out that almost-too-quaint-to-be-true calculation of how many barley corns are in a mile. The book is also a great example of paper corrosion caused by unstable iron gall ink, as you can clearly see in the first image (the whole book looks pretty water-stained too).

From the HSP schoolbook collection [1066].

I love how every assumption about Daryl is proven untrue by Carol and only Carol, and the way he acts around her.

He’s not a hugger, but he’s hugged Carol twice (soon to be four times.)

He’s a man of few words, but when he felt that Carol needed encouragement and hope, he gave a whole speech on leaving the past in the past and starting over.

He’s gruff and tough and hides his emotions, but he sobbed tears of joy upon reuniting with Carol.

He doesn’t know how to comfort people, but he hugged Carol - holding her gently and soothingly - when he saw that she was not okay.

He’s not into the “lovey-dovey” stuff, but he picked Carol a flower, massaged her shoulders, and offered to carry a water jug her metaphorical schoolbooks for her.

Carol is Daryl’s only exception when it comes to this, and to me, that’s yet another thing that puts their bond past friendship. It’s canon that what he has with her, he doesn’t have with anyone else.


“Okay, so remember that the reason the United States entered World War I was because Germany was sinking our merchant ships and they sent the Zimmerman note to Mexico,” Logan says.


He smiles at you. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You smile back. “Yeah.” Then you stand on your tiptoes and kiss his cheek softly before stepping away. “Thank you, Logan.”

A faint blush dusts his cheeks as he mutters, “Anytime.”

Smiling again, you walk away to go to your favorite spot outside, clutching your history book to your chest. All of your schoolbooks are precious to you, as you’ve never had any before.

When you were younger, you went to school until you were about eight, and then your parents died in a house fire. Refusing to go to any kind of childcare, you spent your life on the streets, until now, at 28 years old. Charles found you after sensing you had the power of element manipulation, and took you to the Academy.

You’ve been learning as much as you can ever since, drinking in any information you can find. People don’t realize how much knowledge is a blessing, and you’re not going to take it for granted.

Just as you sit down on your favorite bench in the garden and open up your history book again, you hear the murmured voices behind you.

“She’s only been here a month, but she doesn’t know anything. You should see her in class,” the voice says. You refuse to turn around.

“Isn’t she in class with people half her age?” a second voice asks.

“Yeah,” the first one replies, “and she’s getting private tutoring from some of the other professors.”

Someone giggles before saying, “Wow, she must be retarded.”

Tears well up in your eyes at their words and drip down onto your textbook as they continue to make assumptions about your mental health.

“(Y/n), what’s wrong?”

You look up to see Logan standing next to where you’re sitting, eyes full of concern. “Nothing,” you stammer.

He frowns and looks behind you, then back at you, putting two and two together. “What did they say?”

“Nothing,” you whisper, but he’s already walking away towards the two girls talking about you.

“Hello, ladies,” he says, “what are you talking about?”

“Nothing, professor.”

He feigns confusion. “Really? Because I thought I overheard you talking about my friend (y/n) over there.”


“That’s what I thought. Do you two even realize how lucky you are to have an education? Some kids don’t get to go to school, and (y/n) was one of them. So instead of making fun of her for it, be happy that she finally has a chance to learn. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Professor,” they mumble.

He nods at them and then walks back over to where you sit, taking a seat next to you.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you whisper, wiping away the last of your tears.

He looks at you seriously. “Yes, I did.”

anonymous asked:

Hey! If I'm not too late would you do a scenario or headcanon for tendou where he is really interested in his fem! Classmate who always seems so interested in schoolbooks and who is always reading but in reality she is just reading shounen jump instead of books?

I’m doing this as headcanons, I hope you don’t mind!

  • At first, you didn’t catch his attention much? Like, you were just a classmate more, and you seemed to like your books a lot. But, as time passed, the fact that you always seemed so invested in them, perked his attention. During classes, you were looking at your schoolbook. During breaks? Yeah, the same. Even during lunch, as you ate, you were reading them.
  • He thought lots of times how to approach you. Since you spent basically all the day reading them, you were supposed to have great marks, so he decided to approach you after classes to ask for “some help with a subject he was really bad in”
  • That day, before classes ended, the teacher called out your name. “(Name), I’d like to talk with you a little after the class ends” He saw your eyes go wide, and nod with your head a little low. What was that reaction? He was pretty sure you haven’t done anything wrong.
  • After the last class, curiosity got the best of him, and he finally approached you, since you still seemed a little down. “Hey (Name), I was wondering if you were okay?” When you looked at him with big eyes full of surprise he said “I’m Tendou, and you seem to be in a foul mood since break so…” and he looked at you again “Am I talking too much right?”
  • He heard you laugh and say “No, its okay. The teacher asked me about my grades, since they’re dropping a little…” and you couldn’t finish your sentence because he let out a loud “Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeh?!” his face showing horror “How is that possible?!”
  • When he saw you looking around and saw no one was near, he heard you say “Can you keep a secret?” he nodded vigorously, curiosity killing him. He never expected you to open your schoolbook, and find that it’s contents were… full of familiar images and vibrant colors?
  • He stared at it for a while, after saying in a low voice “I-it’s that… s-shonen jump?” when you nodded he couldn’t help but say “Oh my you’re perfect”
Things that are ALWAYS associated with the signs
  • Aries: Bruised knuckles
  • Taurus: Puppies
  • Gemini: Laughter
  • Cancer: Freshly baked cookies
  • Leo: Looking your best
  • Virgo: Schoolbooks
  • Libra: Lipstick
  • Scorpio: Really loud music
  • Sagittarius: Fireworks
  • Capricorn: The smell of wood
  • Aquarius: Aliens
  • Pisces: Doodles

Thank you so much for tagging @19-reason-why-im-trash@alexc1ting@blackvampirenoel and @jianxis 🙈 😭 ❤

Rules: tag 9 people (or less) that you wanna get to know better.

Relationship status: Single 

Favorite color: Soft/pastel colours

Pets: I want a dog 😭

Wake up: I wake up early, but stay in bed late  😅

Cats or dogs: Probably dogs?  

Coke or Pepsi: Anything that tastes of vanilla 🙈 They actually make vanilla coke, it’s pretty good 😁

Day or night: Day  😁

Text or call: Text, unless there’s a lot to say, 😅

Chapstick or lipstick: Chapstick 

City or country: Something in the middle hehe

Last book I read: My schoolbook 😅

Last song I listened to: Blue Stahli - Metamorphosis

Five facts about me:

  1. I love vanilla (probably too much)
  2. I love chocolate (probably too much)
  3. I love salmon  
  4. I’m so happy I started becoming active on tumblr, cos’ I made friends   😁   
  5. I probably don’t drink enough water

Tagging (no obligation of course): (Tagging people that I haven’t tagged in the other tagging game thingys) @alexisghost , @dysthi , @its-honey-bitches , @kahoworld@kill-your-reasons , @mysticlane , @theeyeofsven@venix18 and @yaoicherry999senpai 

(I find this kinda hard cos’ I wanna tag a lot of people 😭 But I don’t wanna risk creeping people out, so I’m only tagging people that I’ve talked to somehow… I hope that’s ok 😟)

anonymous asked:

There is a teen wolf ao3 fanfic I'm looking for where in the first chapter Stiles opens the door to sophomore college student Peter Hale asking him for help research a mythological creature for a class, and leaving a stuffed wolf in his room. Cora is also really annoyed at him and share some classes with him and Laura approaches him at lunch in school.

Hmm I don’t think I know this one. That or I’ve forgotten it. Does anybody else recognize it?

EDIT: It Came from the Trees by whatshouldntbe

Stiles is walking to his locker at the end of the day, highly annoyed that he’s lost three of his schoolbooks in one sitting.

Derek’s waiting for him, leaning against the lockers next to Stiles’s with his arms crossed like he’s so cool. He says, “Are we gonna talk about the fact that we want to date each other but wont?”


Stiles moves to Beacon Hills so his dad can become the new sheriff, and he’s suddenly the Beyoncé of the supernatural community. It literally all starts with a stuffed animal.

I’ve actually seen this one before but never got around to reading it, and I’m not much into Sterek anymore either. Thanks to everyone who answered :)

anonymous asked:

hush + javid :)

Can’t Get You Here 

jack & davey, 337 words 

“Dav- Davey?!” Jack raced over to Davey, who was huddled in the corner of his room. The comforter on his bed was messily pulled off and wrapped around Davey’s shoulders, his schoolbooks scattering the floor and sheets dragged with him. Davey was shivering, eyes wide with fear, barely registering when Jack came in through the window. Kneeling in front of Davey, Jack took one of his hands in his own, staring into his eyes. He didn’t blink for a full minute before he shut his eyes tight and opened them, really seeing Jack for the first time. With a sudden move that scared Jack, Davey scrambled backwards and pushed Jack away.

“You can’t be here!” he said, with wild eyes. Jack looked around, confused.

I can’t be here?” Jack asked incredulously. Davey nodded. He wrapped the blanket tighter around him and looked away. That’s when Jack noticed the tears streaking down his face at an alarming rate. Jack crawled over to Davey and wrapped his arms around him, holding him close. Davey fought for a moment, until he sighed deeply and let his head fall against Jack’s shoulder. The tears soaked through his shirt, but Jack didn’t care. He sat still until the shaky breaths subsided, their heartbeats slowly aligning. Davey pulled away, resting his forehead on Jack’s. Jack kissed his nose, cupping his face in his hands. 

“What happened?” Davey’s eyes filled with fear and Jack held him tighter. 

“The boys at school found out. About… Us. They saw you and I in the alley behind Jacobi’s and-” Jack kissed him, soft and slow. Davey widened his eyes in surprise, but slowly let them shut. 

Hush. They can’t hurt you. I won’t let them touch you. You’re always safe with me.” Davey sighed with relief and let his head fall on Jack’s chest. 

Jack sat still, not wanting to disturb the boy he loved. As he took deep, slow breaths, he knew he would always want to be the one to be there to comfort Davey.  

A "study" date Damian Wayne X reader oneshot

You groaned as you laid your head on the table, a complaint of “wwwwwhhhhyyyyy” making its way past your lips. Hearing a grunt you looked up in time to see your best friend rolling his eyes “come now, ____, don’t be like that, we have to Ace this test” he reminded, sighing you pushed your upper body off the table “I know, I know, but it’s so boring, Damian! Honestly who even cares about math? We literally carry calculators around wherever we go!” you said, picking up your phone and waving it slightly to emphasize your point. Damian narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips for second, before smirking and pushing the schoolbooks and notebooks aside “alright, alright, Then how about we turn this study date into a “study” date” he suggested, using air quotes on the second study. You stared at him in shock for a second, mouth agape and eyes wide “Damian Wayne! Are you asking me out? Or just messing with me?” you asked him, your voice rising a few decibels in surprise, the blue eyed boy only grinned “what do you think, ____ ____”, you smiled at that, and, well. Let’s just say the “study” date ended well, with a kiss and a D- on the test.

Its short, but it’s my first soooo, *shrugs*