shitslytherinssay:

Shit Slytherins Say: #132

Slytherin: “I don’t like people”

Hufflepuff: *walks by*

Slytherin: “I like one people”

moiested:

that moment when you’re touch starved but touch averted. i want you to touch me but at the same time if you touch me i’ll break your neck

shitthehousessay:

Slytherin: “I don’t care,” I say, caringly, as I care deeply.

hufflepuffs-say-fuck:

Slytherin: I don’t like when people touch me

Gryffindor: and what that means? ~point to hufflepuff hugging slytherin~

Slytherin: that’s different

Hufflepuff

So my Hufflepuff boyfriend was really nervous for his surgery so the night before he stressed baked dozens of cookies until he ran out of ingredients

That’s the most Hufflepuff thing ever and I almost died

Slytherins:

New white candles, flourishing orchids, pretending not to care about school but strives for an A, classic Russian literature, ivy growing on stone, snowflakes that land on your eyelashes and nose, lakes that seem to have no bottom, being the last one to go to bed and the first one up in the morning, faking confidence, listens to both classical music and hard metal, expert sarcasm, brutal games of truth or dare, having a bed covered in pillows and blankets because the dormitory is so cold, having a perfect skin routine, to-do lists, white lies, foggy mornings, zoning out in class, heavy black boots with black skinny jeans, always elegant, looks like they are constantly posing, sly comments in class to the person next to them, reads the chronicles of narnia whenever it snows, stained glass windows, learning Latin for fun, gets really competitive at uno, clenched teeth, raising one eyebrow, being really good at monopoly, try’s their absolute best but pretends not to.

THE BOY WHO NEVER HAD A CHOICE

Slytherins are:

Slytherins are wind coming down the chimney, red cheeks and noses from the cold, they are naturally and perfectly straight hair, slytherins are wearing full and on point makeup one day and no makeup the next, they are fur blankets and silk sheets, sketches on school assignments and old photographs in silver frames, they are snow on evergreen trees and cracked ice in fountains, slytherins are espresso at 9pm and stolen liquor, they are student declared snow days, and cinnamon hot chocolate, they are having that one favourite pen you stole from a gryffindor, and post valantines day candy shopping.

Slythrins would be the ones to suck on candy canes until they are really sharp and then stabs the Griffindors with them just to really get in to the Christmas spirit

So I’m going to public school for the first time ever (I’ve been homeschooled) and it is the farthest thing from Hogwarts ever and I’m sad…

slytherin-headcanons:

658. Slytherins are of course hardheaded, take no shit, sly, shrewd, but if you get close to them, you’ll see they’re a sweetheart

submitted by 6-nonbianary-pornos

Random but…

I work in a coffee shop and there is this guy (he works at pharmasave) who comes in all the time and he looks like a blond Harry Potter. He has (blond) messy hair, the glasses, the beautiful eyes. He is this world’s Harry Potter.

Anyways, I’m in love

hermanione:

-me when giving advice

- Sometimes forfeits thinking about consequences for the sake of getting sh*t done

- Favours logic externally, keeps feelings contained internally

-On the topic of feelings, not always great at empathising with others

- Values composure sometimes a little too much which is what can make them come across as stand off-ish and proud

- Need to prove themselves crosses the line between just gaining knowledge, and  obsessing over things

- Which then leads to frustration if there is no outlet 

- Maintains composure for the sake of political correctness as it can be the easiest way of keeping everybody happy… (better hope you aren’t around if they lose that composure though)

Feel free to add your own…

Draw me like one of your French girls, James

Pairings: James Potter x reader, Marauders era
Warnings: Fluff, implied smut, very light smut, erotic tones
Word Count: 3,440
A/N:Obviouslyyyyy this is based on the sketching scene in Titanic with Jack and Rose. I just watched it last night and just haddd to write a fic off it. Jamesy just gives me the soft boi vibes needed for a scene like this

With his mussed hair, swaggering stride, and infectious personality, James Potter was undeniably attractive. With Sirius by his side, the two were unstoppable. Sirius was as dark and mysterious as James was light and boyish–the two complimented one another perfectly. Together, they held every eye in the room.

Everybody knew James was a Quidditch star, one of the best Seekers the Gryffindor house had ever seen. He could’ve been just as good academically if he could sit still long enough, or if Sirius would let him alone long enough to study for any measurable amount of time. However, luckily for him, his natural skill saved him. He lived to make people laugh, even out of exasperation if necessary–even McGonagall fell to his charms on occasion. But most people didn’t know about his true gift. It seemed he liked to keep it a secret.

To be clear, you weren’t a stalker; you didn’t have their class periods sketched out in a notebook, you didn’t trail behind them in the halls, you didn’t eavesdrop on their conversations, it just seemed you and James preferred the same section of the library at about the same time. He’d turn the corner, find you seated on some sort of plush seating and give you a small smile before commandeering the table in front of you–James couldn’t be anywhere without demanding some sort of attention.

James’ secret was what you looked forward to most each day; James could draw. Not just stick figures, or abstract pieces that could probably qualify as art by definition, but truly beautiful work. Throughout the years, he drew many things, the towering shelves, the roaring fireplace, the Hogwarts grounds through a windowpane, and even caricatures of mean old Madam Pince as her beady eyes scanned for book abusers. Over the years, you watched his talent grow and his subject preference change. As he improved, he moved towards people. Girls studying with their hair tucked behind their ears, boys looking disgruntled as they glared down at their homework, eventually groups of them, working quickly to capture all of them candidly before they lost focus or left. Slowly, though, his subject and medium became slightly voyeuristic. Though he still drew in the library, usually choosing a pretty girl to sketch, the setting changed. From studying solemnly in their robes in the library, they were drawn looking up provocatively from their studies, their robes slit in promiscuous areas. This year, though, this year they become true art. His linework was precise, his shading improving as his shoulders hunched over in concentration, his head flicking up every so often to perfect an aspect of the portrait. You began to memorize his back, the way he’d tilt his head when he was unsatisfied with proportions, the way he’d roll his neck after finishing a section, the way his shoulders would tense when he’d have to leave before completing a sketch.

It was just as you were watching him now that he rolled his neck around and stretched. Lifting up the piece, you about dropped your book as he spoke to you.

“What do you think?” he said, without looking back. His voice was quiet enough to not disturb anyone, but loud enough to know it was for you.

The drawing was of a brown-haired girl sitting across the library at one of the open tables, but it was only her wild curls that told you it was the same girl. She didn’t sit at the table in front of you, studying. Instead, she lay splayed out lazily on one of the armchairs in the common rooms, her elbow resting on the arm, her hand in her hair. Her legs were splayed open; the only thing covering the apex was a conspicuously placed cat laid on her lap. Completely nude, the woman in the photograph was beautiful, without a doubt.

“Sorry?” you coughed, shocked. Bewildered in every way, you couldn’t help but stare at the woman in the photo, the expression on her face, the honesty and peace in the way she laid, the curvature of her breast, the lines of her hips; the clear adoration in the drawing made your cheeks warm.

“What do you think? Hard to tell what you women look like sometimes underneath the robes. D’you think it’s accurate?” he tilted his head as he spoke, his back still to you.

“Er,” you furrowed your brows. The art was gorgeous; how could you tell him any different? “It’s gorgeous.“

“But do you think it’s accurate?” he asked again, this time turning around in his seat and looking at you.

“Er, dunno. Haven’t exactly seen her naked,” you shrugged.

“Me neither. Bit funny, really. Drawing nude women without ever actually having seen one,” James said, grinning a half-smile.

“Why do you, then?” you asked, closing your book. James was simply not someone one skipped out on a conversation with. The way his hazel eyes gazed at you, you could feel the intensity, and it made your heart thrum.

“Can you think of anything better to draw than beautiful, nude women?” he asked, grinning a full grin now.

“No, suppose not,” you agreed, smiling softly. “We are mesmerizing.”

“You’ve no idea,” he grinned cheekily.

“Prongs! There you are, should’ve known,” Sirius all but yelled, striding over to where James sat with you. Ponce could be heard ‘shushing’ him from rows away. “Oh, and who have we here?”

Sirius smirked down at you from your seat on the floor, and the sole attention of both boys was simply too much for you. You could feel the heat in your cheeks.

“Y/N,” you breathed, eyes bouncing between the two beautiful boys.

“Y/N,” Sirius repeated. “Beautiful,”

The blush in your cheeks was absolutely blazing at this point, and it was all you could do not to hold the book over your face.

“Well, if you’re all done, Picasso, we’re gonna be late for practice,” Sirius sighed, picking up the most recent drawing and giving a complimentary nod towards the picture and the subject in front of them. “Though I do think she’d have a bit more of a tummy, those adorable little cheeks of hers can’t be the only extra there.”

“See?” James said, turning back to you. “Anyway, suppose I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“I’ll be here,” you said quietly, watching their backs as they walked out of sight.

The next day, it was all you could do to get through your classes, to get back to the library in hopes James might talk to you again.

You needn’t be told you were hopeless; it was obvious.

In a moment of courage, you steeled your spine and chose the side opposite of James’.

Pulling out your Herbology textbook, you got to work on writing the essay about the Tentacula plant.

“You changed spots,” a deep, warm voice suddenly rang out. WIth your beat skipping into a frenzy, you looked up at James coyly. “Careful, with a look like that, you’ll get your very own page.”

Forcing yourself to breathe regularly and appear poised as though this occurred everyday, you decided to go for a playful response.

“You know, it is a bit weird,” you smirked, your tapping pencil the only giveaway of your nerves.

James pulled his seat out and sat across from you, smirking back. “What’s weird?”

“Drawing naked schoolgirls, without their knowledge. Bit voyeuristic,” you teased.

“It is not! I don’t actually spy on them while they’re naked, or doing anything naughty,” he added, winking at you.

You banged your knee on the table as his foot touched yours under the table. Blushing violently, you worked to quickly recover.

“Maybe not, but do you really think girls want you sketching what you think they look like naked?” you asked, setting down your pencil.

“Er,” James looked awkward for a moment, “yeah?”

You had to reward him with a small laugh.

“Besides, not as if I’m going round with them on display. Pads sees them, but it’s downright difficult to keep things from him, haven’t got the time. And you’ve seen them, but that’s just because you’re nosy,” he teased back, grinning slightly.

“I am not!” you hissed, offended.

“Are too! Been bloody watching me for years,” he grinned fully now, loving the way your blush lit your cheeks.

“Have not! Besides, I think you have a very skewed vision of women,” you said, straightening your papers haughtily, desperate to get the attention off you watching James.

“What?” he said, fully buying into your distraction.

“We don’t all look like that, you know, Sirius was right,” you grumbled.

“Sorry?” he scoffed, looking bewildered.

“It’s just,” you thought about how best to say it, “we don’t all look like bloody adult film stars. Breasts don’t usually sit like perfectly symmetrical balloons on the chest. Hip dips are a thing. Body hair? Women have it too, not all of us spend hours plucking ourselves bare.”

“Hang on,” James said, ruffling through his bag and pulling out a piece of parchment. “Alright, asymmetry, less perfection, hip dips, hair. This is good. This is what I was talking about. What else?”

He seemed hungry for how to improve, looking at you eagerly.

“I dunno, er, some women have a bit of a tummy, large thighs,” you wracked your brain for more, “I could probably show you better than I could tell you.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, your eyes grew in shock at your own forwardness. Hoping he would just think it a turn of phrase, you steeled yourself for his response.

He relaxed his quill and looked up from his notes.

“Show me, then,” he all but purred. Your heart sprinted at an unbelievable pace, your stomach bubbling nervously.

“Alright,” you breathed, surprising even yourself.

“Alright?” James repeated, his pupils blown instantly.

“Alright,” Sirius repeated cheerily, seemingly popping up out of nowhere. Jumping slightly, you cursed yourself and turned back to your books.

“You’ve really got to work on your timing, mate,” James huffed. Sirius looked put out at his friend’s reaction.

“Maybe if you could keep track of time yourself, I wouldn’t have to. Quidditch,” Sirius said, gesturing to the large clock on the wall; one of the many hands was Scarlett red and pointed at the Quidditch field.

Grumbling and stuffing the parchment into his bag, James turned back to you.

“Tonight, here, 2am,” he commanded.

“In the middle of the library?!” you whisper yelled. Laughing at your reaction, he waved you off.

“It’ll be empty, I’m sure of it,” he reassured you.

“What’s at 2 am?” Sirius asked quietly as the two of them walked away once more.

“Doesn’t matter,” James shrugged. “Listen, I need the library empty tonight, don’t ask questions…”

His voice trailed off as the two of them disappeared from view, and you couldn’t believe yourself as you sat alone with your courageous words.

Wrapping a scarlet satin robe around yourself a bit tighter, you silently paced the room as your bedmates slept on, the nervous energy reaching a height.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” you cursed at yourself, biting your lip anxiously.

You’d barely even had a full conversation with a man, let alone James. And now you were about to strip nude in the middle of the bloody library so he could sketch you?

Casting another nervous glance at the clock, you held your breath as the clock struck 1:50. Cursing quietly and half hoping he wouldn’t be down there, you began your descent down the spiral staircase and out of the common rooms into the drafty night. Hugging the walls, you kept a keen ear out for Filch and an eye peeled for his dreaded cat.

Finally, after 10 anxiety-filled minutes, you reached the library; your anxiety only increased tenfold.

Padding silently through the spacious room, you headed towards your corner.

“James?” you whispered in the darkness. No response. Steeling yourself this time for rejection, or his absence, you called out once more. “James!”

Suddenly, a hand touched the small of your back, and the other hand quickly came up to your mouth.

“Hello,” he whispered into your ear, causing a fresh wave of goosebumps to cover your skin. Moving his hand, you smacked his chest.

“You scared the bloody hell out of me,” you sighed. “What’s this?”

It seemed he’d brought one of the black velvet sofas to your section and had it catty-corner with the shelves, the smoldering fireplace in the background. The table seemed to be providing the light, with several candles lit on it.

“Thought you could lay across it,” he said, scratching the back of his neck.

“Alright,” you said, breath oddly becoming more calm as the moment came closer.

Turning around to see him for the first time that night, you nearly melted there. He had a simple shirt and trousers, but his sleeves were rolled up a couple times to expose his forehead, his hair looked as though he’d just rolled out of bed–as it always did. He seemed to be nervous as his hands fidgeted with different parts of himself. Sitting in the seat he placed facing the couch, he grabbed his parchment and splayed his pencils out on the table next to him.

“Whenever you’re ready, then,” he said, grabbing a pencil.

Taking a deep breath, you walked towards the couch and turned back towards him. Lifting your hands, you brought them up to the sash tying your robe together, and grabbed an end. Pulling, the robe fell open, and you shook it off your shoulders, standing utterly bare in front of James. He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, pulling slightly at the crotch of his pants.

His reaction only boosted your ego, and you found yourself almost at ease.

“Draw me like one of your french girls, James,” you simpered, unable to miss out on the opportunity.

“My French girls?” he questioned. Remembering he was brought up in the Wizarding world and wouldn’t understand your reference, you waved it off. “Er, just, er, go ahead and lay across the couch.”

Lying slightly on your side, you began adjusting yourself when James began ordering your pose.

“Lay your arm like you had it,” he directed, and you moved how you thought he meant, but his facial expression told you that wasn’t it.

“Come pose me, James,” you whispered. It was hard for you not to speak seductively in such a setting. He cleared his throat once more.

“Alright,” he placed his parchment on his seat as he walked towards you, and you were pleased to see his trousers looked a bit tight.

He gingerly grasped your wrist and draped your arm over your head. His hand then went to adjust your knee, and you jumped slightly at what could only be described as electricity brushed your skin. Bending it slightly, he straightened out your other leg slightly and turned to your other arm, bending the elbow so that your fingers lay against your head.

It was all you could to not point out the irony.

“Perfect,” he said under his breath, clearly assuming you couldn’t hear.

He took back his seat and bent over his parchment, his wrist moving slightly as he began his sketch.

The library was utterly silent aside from the flickering of the flames and James’ pencil as it moved across the page. After several minutes, you couldn’t take the silence.

“How’s it coming?” you asked quietly.

“You’ll see,” he smirked. “Now, stay still.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” you grinned slightly before relaxing your face once more.

His hazel eyes zeroed in on your chest as he drew, determined to do his muse justice.

“I see what you mean, about the asymmetry,” he murmured, almost to himself. Suddenly self-conscious, you began to adjust yourself.

“No, no,” he held up his hands to stop you. “It’s natural; it’s beautiful. Trust me, darling, the real thing is so much better.”

His words calmed you, and you shook your head slightly, trying to get out of it. Settling back into your old pose, you instead focused on James. It was odd, almost, seeing him sketch from the front. The way his head tilted when he was unhappy with something was accompanied by a furrowing of his brow, his eyes flitting quickly from you back to the page as he figured out what was wrong. His hazel eyes seemed almost brown in the darkness of the empty library. His breathing was steady, his face poised in what only could be described as intense concentration. He switched his legs back and forth as time wore on, shading more closely now–he must be finished with the linework.

“Move your hair forward a bit,” he directed, and you pushed your Y/C/H onto your face a bit, so that your fingers on your other hand brushed it.

His face returned to the intense concentration, and you suppressed a smile as his tongue poked out of his lips as he clearly focused on one detail.

Finally, his constant movements slowed, and he began to straighten his back more regularly, his eyes flitting back to you and the paper as he checked over his work.

“So?” you breathed, unable to hold yourself back any longer.

“I think this might be my best work yet,” he smiled lightly, his eyes now steadying on you more frequently. “Having a real model instead of an idea in my head is so much better.”

“So I don’t disappoint, then?” you asked, fully aware you were fishing.

“Disappoint?” he breathed, looking mildly bemused. “It’s all I can do to remain seated professionally in this chair right now.”

Your heart thrummed in your chest at his words.

After a few erasings and redo’s, he rolled his neck.

“All done, then?” you asked. He nodded, still studying his work. Sitting up, you rolled blood back into your stiff limbs. “Well, go on then, let’s see it.”

He stood up and walked over to the couch. Handing you the sketch, it took you several seconds to comprehend that it was you.

The woman in this photograph was stunning. Her curved, nude body quietly dominated the scene. The swell of her breast was accentuated by the sharp peak of the nipple as the cold castle air blanketed her body. The curvature of her hip contrasted greatly with the vague shadowing of her ribs as she stretched her body. Her legs draped along the couch like a string of pearls, eye-catching with a ghostly shine on the pale tone of her body. Her hair cascaded off the side of the couch like flowing water, shining in the candlelight. Her face told you she knew she was beautiful, she knew she had the full attention of the man in front of her, and she knew what to do with it. Her thin lips pulled into the slightest of smirks. Yet, her big Y/C/E eyes held an innocence in direct contrast with the confidence her entire face held. A quiet feminine dominance spilled from the page, infecting you.

This was a mythical siren, her beauty so enticing, so fully encapturing; how could anyone deny her?

“James…” you breathed, sudden tears beginning to pool behind your eyes. You sniffled, and he looked up in horror.

“Oh, Godric, you hate it,” he moaned, trying to pull the sketch from you.

The fact that you were still completely nude seemed long forgotten as you reached a hand up to pull his face back towards you. To make him see these were happy tears.

“This is really how you see me?” you asked, smiling softly with watery tears in your eyes.

“I can only draw what I see,” he answered.

“Oh, James,” you all but sobbed, wrapping yourself around him.

The feeling of his shirt on your bare breast was enough to shock you back into reality. Pulling back slightly, his hand on the small of your back was enough to keep you from pulling away entirely.

As if on cue, a candle on the table faded to blackness as the wax ran out. You didn’t need to look to see within seconds the rest would be out too. His eyes held you too intensely for you to look away. Reaching up, you traced his lips with a brush of the pad of your finger. As his eyes slid closed in temptation, yours fell to his sketch once more.

The woman in the drawing grinned coyly at you, her nude frame emboldening you just as the last candle burnt out, plunging a very naked you and James into complete darkness.