Request:@slythendorbitchHi there! :) could you do a story where newt x reader (Slytherin) are falling in love and he wants to kiss her but due to his nervousness everything goes awry? It should be so fluffy and cute and sweet that everyone dies haha
Notes: So fluffy it’s like clouds made out of whipped cream and marshmallow and butterbeer foam (I hope you don’t mind I left out the bit about everyone dying!).
Newt had asked you to tea with him at Madame Puddifoot’s for Valentine’s Day, which, all all Hogwarts students knew, meant things were really official.
Every year, as long as anyone could remember, Madame Puddifoot transformed her already doily-decked tea shop into a candied confection of pink and red. It made you feel slightly sick to your stomach, but you liked Newt far too much to let it stop you.
He was noticeable in his yellow-trimmed Hufflepuff cloak and his going-every-which-way reddish brown hair. Having grown substantially the previous summer, he seemed a head above the other students clustered around the entrance to the tea shop. Giving him a warm hug in greeting, you stepped in together, the door jangling happily, and you were immediately blasted blasted with the scent of strawberry shortcake and what could only be described as great-grandmother perfume.
The “Valentine’s Day Special” included a small tower of sweets for each couple (themed, of course), a special blooming rose tea that turned the drink glittery as the petals opened, and a small, fluffy, white rabbit that sniffed all your crumbs in docile delight, and whose only purpose seemed to make patrons continually go, “Awww!”
You and Newt looked stole glances at each other as you both worked through the sweets at your table, occasionally smiling and commenting on how tasty they were.
You noticed that Newt had a puff of whipped cream stuck to his chin, “You have a dab of cream…just there,” you demonstrated on yourself.
He wiped it away quickly, mumbling thanks, and looked quite flustered.
“I must say, I’m happy you decided to come with me. Thank you,”
“Of course, Newt. I’m glad you asked me here.”
The words exchanged were simple, but you both felt your hearts warming more with each moment. You had crushes in past, of course, but this was different for the first time. This felt like your best friend and crush were the same person: one wonderful parcel–Newt.
He reached across the table and took your hand, fingers fumbling awkwardly for a moment, “I-I suppose by now, that you…that you know I really fancy you.”
He’d said it for months, but you pressed your lips together and politely nodded. He looked so earnest.
“Well, since it’s Valentine’s Day and all, I was wondering if maybe you would allow me the honor of being your Valentine, and…”
Looking a bit woozy, he scooted his chair around the table to be slightly closer to you. “Are you alright, Newt?” you asked.
“Yes. Yes, I’m perfectly fine,” color rose up his cheeks to his forehead.
You thought Newt was lovely, but sometimes so terribly bad at articulating himself so you decided to take over, “What do you want to tell me? You’re making me nervous as well.” You added a small laugh. As a Slytherin, your no-nonsense practicality wanted him to get on with it.
Quickly he said, “So sorry. Please don’t be nervous, (Y/N). I was just wondering if I, well,” he filled his lungs, “May be allowed to kiss you?” He gave you a timid but hopeful grin. Your heart tried to break out of your ribcage.
“Yes!” you replied decidedly, “But, er, here?”
You both looked around at the dozen or so other couples within close proximity making nauseating cooing and kissing noises. You felt like you were in a dizzying washing machine of adolescent love.
“Erm, yes, shall we go outside?” Newt and you threw back the last of your tea, you plucked another biscuit from the table, and both of you wove your way through the maze of tables and saccharine decor to the door.
You walked in silence.
“So…how shall we, I guess, do it?”
“I honestly hadn’t planned quite this far,” he said under his breath.
“How about we…” you looked around at the students wandering from shop to shop, “How about we just take a nice little stroll?”
“Let’s,” he agreed.
You felt Newt’s hand slip into yours, and squeezed back a few times playfully. He looked down at you, smiling a rather goofy grin. A few weeks ago, you remember how he had confessed to you that you had been one of the first people to be patient enough to deal with his gracelessness. He sometimes didn’t know the right way to say something, or how to act, but his lack of tact didn’t bother you at all. In fact, it usually let you feel more free in taking charge of situations. The two of you just seemed to work.
The sun had begun starting the futile work at melting all the snow that had fallen, causing it to glisten and sparkle, and the icicles to shine like prisms. Occasionally, a student would throw you a certain look–A Hufflepuff and a Slytherin? Madness–but it didn’t bother you in the slightest, and Newt didn’t even seem to notice.
The both of you walked along the main road, stopping now and then to look at quaint storefronts, but never dropping hands. Newt seemed to be avoiding the whole kissing topic, and every time he looked at you, you felt your heartbeat pick up steam, only to have it die down again when he mentioned the litter of kneazles that was found taking shelter in Greenhouse 2.
Eventually, the two of you wandered all the way down to Hogsmeade Station. The Hogwarts Express sat like a resting beast, exhaling the occasional puff of steam. Standing aside it provided a relative bit of privacy, as most students were still down in the village.
“Well,” you said, coming to a stop.
“Well,” Newt echoed, adding a nervous laugh “I guess this is the end of the line.”
“Ha, ha,” you laughed in a teasing tone, getting restless, “So…”
Newt turned to face you, looking conspicuously down at your lips and then back up to your eyes.
“I’ve never really done this before,” he admitted sheepishly.
“Just, erm, put your face closer to mine,” you tried.
“I know that,” he was outwardly disappointed himself, as he seemed to be cringing at his own mistakes. It was simultaneously painful and irresistible.
“Maybe it’s best we do it at a count,” you offered.
He nodded, and you took both his hands in yours, bringing them up and down with each count,
You breathed “one” into his mouth, as he brought his lips to yours with surprising fearlessness. He dropped your hands and held you gently by the waist as your hand creeped upwards to caress his cheek. It was an exploratory kiss, considerate, but daring. You felt the warmth that had built in your chest suddenly gush out to the tips of every limb.
As you pulled apart slowly, he suddenly let go of your hips, as if he had done something that crossed a line.
“How…how was that for you?” his eyes searched your face.
“It was perfect,” you said honestly.
“Thank goodness,” he sighed, “I thought I’d botched it all. As usual.”
“Mmm, maybe a little,” you said teasingly, “But perfect would be boring. This…is memorable.”
You tilted his head back down to yours for a much longer, and certainly more relaxed, kiss.
Dr Lecter, not wishing to call attention to himself, waits until the other passengers have picked through this sorry fare, waits until they have gone to the bathroom and most have fallen asleep. Far at the front, a stale movie plays. Still he waits with the patience of a python. Beside him the small boy has fallen asleep over his computer game. Up and down the broad airplane, the reading lights wink out.
Then and only then, with a furtive glance around, Dr Lecter takes from beneath the seat in front of him, his own lunch in an elegant yellow box trimmed with brown from Fauchon, the Paris caterer. It is tied with two ribbons of silk gauze in complementary colors. Dr Lecter has provisioned himself with wonderfully aromatic truffled pate de foie gras, and Anatolian figs still weeping from their severed stems. He has a half-bottle of a St Estephe he favors. The silk bow yields with a whisper.
Dr Lecter is about to savor a fig, holds it before his lips, his nostrils flared to its aroma, deciding whether to take all the fig in one glorious bite or just half, when the computer game beside him beeps. It beeps again. Without turning his head, the doctor palms the fig and looks down at the child beside him. The scents of truffle, foie gras and cognac climb from the open box. The small boy sniffs the air. His narrow eyes, shiny as those of a rodent, slide sideways to Dr Lecter’s lunch. He speaks with the piercing voice of a competitive sibling: “Hey, Mister. Hey, Mister.”
He’s not going to stop.
“What is it?”
“Is that one of those special meals?”
“It is not.”
“What’ve you got in there then?”
The child turned his face up to Dr Lecter in a full wheedle. “Gimme a bite?”
>> I find it extremely adorable that Hannibal waited with the patience of a python for the right time to eat his own lunch box on a plane, only to have his meal interrupted by a curious little boy sitting next to him, and tragically he didn’t get to eat anything in the end //hungry cannibal noises …Now imagine Post-s3 Murder Husbands, we have Will sitting next to a very helpless Hannibal, witnessing all of it and failing to keep a straight face …
A ‘Sun Ruffle’ Shirt by Luis de Jesús for the Spring Equinox
I am a huge fan of Luis de Jesús’ deconstructivist, surrealist fashion. He makes the kind of garments one simply puts on and presto—the look is complete.
Last Thursday I had the honor of walking the runway for his Lalyville Romance Redone collection, in the company of Benjamin, Steven, and other fine fellows—including Darke Attoms, whom I had the pleasure of meeting in person.
The clothes were magnificent and imaginative, easy to wear and daring—all my favorite combinations. A delicate balance of composition and color makes each piece a keepsake.
From the collection I now present—in a manner most appropriate for today’s vernal equinox—a ‘Sun Ruffle’ shirt, which I love with its pastel yellow ruffle neck trim and Luis’ trademark denim strips, which give the shirt great movement and fantasy.
The romance is always present in these garments, and yet this photo session by Goor Studio captures the quasi-military air that has pervaded my outfits lately, augmented by a customary straight-up stance.
Because of thr image-header of your blog, my head canon for human-form Starscream looks a lot like America Chavez. I mean at least the red, white and blue is there right?
That’s absolutely amazing, holy shit.
Now that you mention it one of the main holomatter avatars I imagined for IDW Starscream does look a bit like America Chavez, but with more of a bob-cut sort of hairstyle. I could see him with an avatar of either sex, and seeing as he’s from an active military background I imagined his avatar being in pretty good shape; not absolutely hulking with muscles or anything, but definitely fit. Since he’s got dark face plating I image his avatar’s skin as dark as well, and Central/South American ethnicity seems like a good fit to me for various reasons. Then of course, the avatar would be dressed in red, white and blue, with some yellow trim or bling something for the cockpit. Unlike America Chavez though, I imagine Starscream’s holoavatar would either wear a military flight suit, a pompous looking military officer’s uniform, the kinda smart outfit you’d imagine a politician wearing, or some sort of fusion of the above. Finally the shape of most of Starscream’s helms just makes me think “bob-cut”, so yeah.
Two models stand together wearing fashions by Ungaro; at left, model wears a bright green coat, with Empire bodice of yellow and green stripes, trimmed in purple, a matching green dress beneath; model at right wears a pink and orange striped coat with purple/aquamarine blu/acid green accents, a matching striped dress beneath. Photo by Dave McCabe, Mademoiselle 1966.
Hytham Harara is happy to show off his family’s freshly rebuilt home in Gaza City’s Shujaya neighborhood, one of the areas badly battered in the 2014 war between Israel and Hamas, the militant Islamist group that runs the Gaza Strip.
The outside of the house is painted buttercream yellow, trimmed with red and tan. Inside, there’s an artistic stone inlay on the floor of the living room, a stylized nightingale mural on one wall, and ornate wooden doors. They create a world far removed from much of the rubble that remains just outside.
The family returned home a couple months ago, after a year-and-a-half crammed into a rental across town. But rebuilt homes in this area are just dots among bombed out shells and stalled construction starts.
White House with yellow trim by Randy Pryde Via Flickr: I was driving with my wife looking for things to photograph when i passed this house. I turned around and went back to photograph it. Something about the bright yellow trim captivated me on an otherwise dull grey wintery afternoon.
show you a few things by lazy-daze
Bottom!Liam, gagging, dirty talk, slight D/s-y dynamics, slight touching on humiliation and exhibition kink, hint of breathplay at the end
World was on fire by amberbamda
Harry spirals out of control. Liam does his best to hold everything together.
Liam’s pretty pantiesby hermette
They’re cotton and such a pale pink they’re nearly white, with faint yellow trim on the waistband and a bow right in the center. Liam bought them in a pack of three at a Wal-Mart outside Chicago in the middle of the night.
And our love goes on by slashter
the one where a young Liam shows up out of nowhere and Liam and Harry give him what he needs
The Only Place You’ve Knownby andwhatyousaid The fan says, “I’ve never like — I never thought I would see anyone so open about it, or like so famous, like able to be so famous, like on the cover of, of — anything, any teen magazine that my fucking younger sister could pick up.”And Liam gets it, because he’s never thought so either.
broke some rocks right through your windowby fallfrealy
Reception teacher Liam might be able to handle a classroom full of children with no sweat— but when it comes to letting himself fall in love, he finds he still has loads left to learn.
No Idea What We’re Doingby nevulon Boarding school sexy shenanigans. * Grabbing his clothes, he says, “Stay turned around, alright, I’m getting dressed.”“Did you really get mud everywhere?” Liam pauses; Harry couldn’t have made that sound more sexual if he tried.
When I Know What I Needby threeturn
Liam can’t stop thinking about Ben Winston, and Harry knows just how to make his dreams come true.
Thank you sasssycatholic for the help with some of the fics. Enjoy! Also, remember to leave kudos/comments on the fics you like!
Before Sun knew it, it was 7:15 in the evening and he found himself standing in front of Coco’s dormitory door. The monkey Faunus was dressed in a white version of Neptune’s signature jacket, blue jeans, and his usual sneakers that where black with yellow trim.
With a deep breath for courage, he reached out and knocked on the dorm room door, 3 times before placing his hands back in his jacket pockets, nervous about his first date with Coco.
the eleventh hour comes five turns of the clock too early.
the procession from duur approaches quickly. seolhyun watches from behind her curtain as horses and green flags and soldiers and noblemen ride past the gates and into another week-long visitation
for the very important purpose of improving scholarly relations, lead by the very intelligent first princess herself.
(she is looking for him, she is not. she almost finds him right beside her until three knocks come on her door and a shy maid of sixteen walks in with her bowed to her knees. the princess must be present at the welcoming.)
so rich yellow dress with gold trimmings, an expression of extravagance in every detail, she glides down the stairs and out into the sun. her mind is so lost that she doesn’t notice the prince walking towards her, putting an arm around her waist, kissing her cheek and leading her forward to the front lines.
they dismount. they walk, they talk, they smile. they shake hands and bow their heads, and seolhyun pretends she doesn’t know him.
(it feels much worse than she could have ever imagined.)
yet, she waits by the fire at the first sight of a star. she waits for her beloved with words clutched too close to her heart.
more than anyone. more than anything. more than you know.
a prayer, a mantra, an anchor to a reality she has wrongfully constructed for the both of them. patient words and quiet mouth, and a girl in the dark sitting by the fire–waiting to watch everything burn.