Slytherin Aesthetics:: Black

I bestow upon thee; concept playlists

•classical music to sip tea to while contemplating philosophy and the next marble bust you’ll buy

•stealing books from the Oxford library with friends you never thought you’d find, in the snow, yelling about Ovid, lighting candles

•folky music for sitting on your front porch in the lazy evening sun, surrounded by your closest friends, gazing at a wheat field and singing along with a guitar in your arms

•feeling listless; like you’re walking the world alone, wandering with no destination, held in the arms of the earth and happy with that

•songs to sing LOUD in the car on a road trip going nowhere in particular

•staring out the window of a quaint coffee shop, watching the raindrops cling to the glass and thinking of all the poetry you’re going to write for that lover you left behind

•looking back on a long relationship and realizing all the ups and downs you’ve had as one, suddenly seeing it all in slow motion like a silent film

•laying back on your bed, smiling uncontrollably, thinking of all the beautiful, bucolic times you’re going to have in the sun with that person you can’t stop thinking of

•a rock in your rib-cage, sobbing on the floor, feeling empty; things are coming to an end and you can’t bear to see them go

•the first day of summer – sprawling yourself in the green & vivacious grass, heart shaped sunglasses perched on your nose; youth in all its glory

•songs that bring back days of your old glory, reliving your childhood and your golden days, tracing over the old scars and remembering how you got them

•the smell of old books, melancholy, songs that are so potent with a sort of wild and tragic longing that they’re almost dangerous

•looking out a car window; letting your eyes cling to weeping trees and then letting them snap back again. feeling self centered and tragical.

•literally just songs that remind me of Oscar Wilde and Bosie Douglas

•stuff that i’m listening to right now! always changing, songs that i’m playing on repeat

mythology family ♥︎ menthe for @221bcecil

in greek mythology, menthe was a cocythian nymph, and beloved by hades, was metamorphosed by persephone into a mint plant, or, according to others, she was changed into dust, from which Hades caused the mint plant to grow forth.

"quiet, they can hear us" jeddy<333

God, I love these two so much.

Huge family dinners were a regular occurrence in the Potter household.

Everyone brought food and drink (which mostly led to them having 8 bottles of wine and 10 different desserts)

People usually arrived in the same order as well.

Ginny would open the door for Hermione, Ron and the kids right on time. Next came Molly and Arthur a few minutes later. Fred’s family maybe 10. Bill and Fleur a few minutes after them and so on.

When it got past the hour mark, only James was left waiting by the door, sat on the bottom step of the staircase.

He’d entertain himself, picking threads from the carpet, until he heard the faint pop just outside the door.

He was up in a second, swinging the door open.

Teddy’s fist was still raised in a motion to knock. He didn’t have time to lower it, his smile hadn’t even fully formed on his face before James was pulling him over the threshold by the collar of his jacket and molding their lips together.

Teddy let out a surprised, breathy laugh into James’ mouth, before kissing back hungrily.

“Late. As usual.” James mumbled against Teddy’s mouth before pressing another hard kiss to it.

Teddy smirked, palms warm around James’ hips as he backed him up against the hall closet. His teeth scraped gently against James lip, “Waiting. As usual.”

James scoffed and Teddy leaned back, only enough so that he could see Teddy clearly. Their hips and most of their chests still pressed together.

“I wouldn’t have to wait if you weren’t always so late.”

Teddy grinned, “Why on earth would I be on time when instead I get kissed before I’m even through the door? Besides…” He leaned in again, nosing along James’ cheek, lips dragging along his jaw, “If I was on time, there would be family everywhere and we wouldn’t get to do this…”

James bit his lip, head falling back against the closet door as Teddy started placing open-mouthed kisses down the column of his neck.

“Yeah…” James’ fingers curled into Teddy’s hair, eyes falling shut, “Maybe you should be late.”

“Mhm.” Teddy answered shortly, mouth otherwise occupied with one of James’ collarbones.

James only just had the mind to tell him off about leaving any marks, “I got way too many questions last time- especially from dad.”

Teddy withdrew his head and raised an eyebrow at James, “What was Harry doing asking questions about a hickey on your neck?”

“Because.” James said distressed, “He’s always asking if I’ve met anyone and then there was that so obviously I had met someone-“

There was a sudden voice from the other room, “James? Is Ted here yet?”

James’ eyes widened, “Speak of the devil.”

Teddy bit his lip, eyeing the already forming splotch of purplish-red on Teddy’s collar bone where his lips had been moments before, “C’mon.”

He hurriedly opened the closet door and yanked James inside after him before closing it as quietly as possible.

“What the-“

“Shh.” Teddy pressed a finger to James lips.

“James? Are you even out there?”

When no reply came again Harry sighed, leaning in to kiss Ginny on the cheek, “Be right back.”

Ginny nodded, “I swear to Merlin, if he’s eating the cake again-“

Harry laughed, before making his way into the entry hall. He was about to call out James’ name again when-

“What the bloody hell are we doing in here?”

Harry’s eyes instantly narrowed in on the closet - the source of what was clearly James’ voice.

“Quiet- they can hear us.”

Another voice. Harry tilted his head, risking one step forward, trying to figure out who it was. It was clearly a boy’s.

“Well, I don’t understand why we couldn’t have just gone out there and then, y’know, finished that off later, they’re gonna wonder where we a-“

“No… What they’re going to wonder about is… that…”

There was a beat of silence before, “Teddy!”

Ah, Harry thought, So Teddy.

Ironic really, that the two boys had taken to hiding something that practically everyone had already guessed about.

“The second I tell you not to- and then you already have- Jesus fucking christ, it’s the dead of summer I can’t wear a fucking turtle neck!-“

“I’m sorry. I can’t- you’r just so-“ A sigh, “I can’t help it..”

Harry smirked, guessing as to what they were talking about.

“Well- Well-“ James cursed, “Why do you have to be so fucking cute about it-“


“I’m not cute-“

“You’re bloody cute. Now let’s get out of here before anyone comes. I don’t hear anything, I think it’s safe-“

With a start Harry saw the door handle starting to turn. He tried to casually sprint back into the living room and huffed down into his previous spot on the couch.

Ginny raised an eyebrow, “What’s wrong?”

“What?” Harry puffed, “Nothing. Why is something wrong?”

Ginny’s brow arched further. Harry endured her stare for only a moment before cracking.

He leaned in, “Y’know James?”

“Our son?”

“Yeah.”

Ginny shot him a look, “Well, yes Harry, I do believe I know James.”

“Oh.” Harry flushed, “Right. Well, y’know Teddy?”

“Yes. Of course, what are you-“

Harry was the one to raise his eyebrows this time.

“What- oh. Oh.”

Ginny grinned, “Well at least now we know why he never brings anyone home.”

🌹 a flower for everyone not feeling their best today

Me: *wants to get over a book*

Also Me: *rereads favorite scenes over and over, tracks the tag, reblog everything to do with the book*

There are many good reasons to be salty about Jewish representation in the HP universe but it actually does make sense, given 1991 UK population stats and Hogwarts’ implied size, for there to only be one Jewish Hogwarts student.

Keep the flame going for those we have lost to suicide. 

Okay but like, The Raven Cycle and like every other YA book out there has given me such unrealistic friendship expectations that I'm bound to be alone forever. I will most likely die by being crushed by my own bookshelf. What a way to go.

fleur delacour falling in love with bill weasley because he sees her. his youngest brother looked and went hair-eyes-teeth-legs, thought body, thought sex. her whole life, men have been looking and seeing a thing, not a girl. since she turned thirteen and bud-breasts pressed up against her shirts and boys at school wanted to sit close, men back home lingered too long in hugs.

until she was fifteen she dressed herself in shame before she put any clothes on at all. wore everything a few sizes too big, a few inches too long. draped herself in thick fabrics to hide the body beneath them. never learned that hot eyes on her were the fault of their owners, not her. took the uncomfortable stares and the endless flirtation as a fact of life. was fourteen the first time she dared to say “stop looking!” and met only laughter.

it’s not until she’s nearly sixteen and her sister is turning ten that she sees eyes begin to slide over her and to gabrielle. a friend of their father’s, not even that deep into a bottle of wine, caresses a child-round cheek and murmurs a line from lolita, eyes too bright and lips too dry. gabrielle flickers a panicked glance around the room. that look is so familiar. the same hour fleur switches her baggy sweatshirt for a crop top and rolls her skirt over two inches. 

they will look at her. never at her sister.

at school, the same. at home, the same. slowly, she learns to be less ashamed of the looking. to play to the object they expect her to be. she comes to scotland and she’s the centre of attention. they hear her name pulled out of  the goblet of fire and all anyone wants to talk about is her legs in that skirt. she defeats a dragon and boys whisper all the dirty things they want to do to her just moments after they finish comparing cedric’s charmwork to krum’s reflexes to harry’s flying. they watch her pass in the hallways and their eyes glaze over like she’s a thing put there for their pleasure. 

fleur lifts her head high and lets the stares keep coming.

then she meets bill weasley, and not long after he asks her how she’s doing. asks it like he really means it, like it matters to him that she still gets nervous going around blind corners, that vines make her skin crawl and that the green flash of a hex makes her mind go too blank with fear to defend herself. he brings her a bottle of his favourite whiskey and sinks deep into it, tells her about his life and his job and asks about that night in the maze she doesn’t think about. he doesn’t look at her legs even once.

the next time she brings him her favourite wine and they share it. she’s giggling and silly by the end of the evening and he laughs with her, laughs at her like an equal and not like a thing he wants to fuck. he takes her to her door and leaves her in the care of her friends and he doesn’t do it because he thinks it’ll make scoring easier next time. doesn’t decide his actions based on which will result in sex the fastest.

he doesn’t ask her out until he’s laid himself bare for her, doesn’t even touch her until she reaches down and presses her fingers into his. the first night she feels brave enough to go home with him he keeps her up at the kitchen table until three am telling her all the things he likes about her. her physical appearance doesn’t even make the top one hundred. he says, how much you love your sister. how fierce you look when i take the last croissant. that funny french way you roll your ‘r’s. how you try to tell me jokes but laugh too much to finish them. how you know exactly how many children you want, and the precise shade of blue you’ll use to decorate your nursery. the bravery of you. the way your mind moves so fast sometimes i can’t keep up with it. the fact that i think you could do my job ten times as effectively as i can. they fall asleep on top of his covers, fully clothed, and the next morning fleur has to say yes i want this i am sure that i want this ten times before he starts to undress her.

his family call her all the things she’s heard a million times before. fleur lifts her head high and lets the insults keep coming. his brothers still sometimes look at her like they’ve forgotten to see a person, his mother mutters under her breath about fleur’s lack of suitability, his sister takes every opportunity to express her dislike. they see her beauty and they think they know her. they watch her move and they think she’s nothing more than her body and face. 

but bill weasley sees her. and fleur will not let anything—not a war, not lycanthropy, not a disapproving family—take him away from her.

of course i have a lot of pent-up rage you fool i’ve been the same height since i was 12