Books With Morally Ambiguous Characters

theoi as Aesthetics™ cause i feel like it ig

Zeus

sunlight beaming through dark clouds, cold winds that burn your cheeks, lightning that illuminates the sky for just a fraction of a second, strong wings and sharp talons

Hera

golden rings slightly dulled after years of wear, lotus flowers floating upon pools of water, wedding gifts wrapped in gold paper, peacock feathers that glimmer in the sun

Poseidon

jagged rocks decorated by barnacles and seaweed, clouds of sand kicked up by a horse galloping across a seashore, rusted old treasures lost to the deep ocean, waves that lap gently over the sand or crash fiercely against the rocks

Haides

large dogs bearing sharp teeth, old coins blackened and rusted by time, animal bones half-buried under dark soil, silver rings on pallid fingers

Demeter

long grass brushing against your legs, freshly baked bread in a wicker picnic basket, golden honeycomb, fields of grain ready for harvest

Aphrodite

lipstick stains in shades of red and pink, doves perched upon blossoming branches, love letters written in smudged red ink, the opalescent underside of a scallop shell

Apollo

crowns of bay leaves resting on curly hair, golden instruments polished until gleaming, poems scrawled on walls in marker pen, bandages carefully wrapped over wounds

Artemis

feather-tipped arrows, flowers and leaves braided into a wreath, deer drinking from a brook in the forest, moonlight shining through the evergreen branches of tall trees

Ares

bandages over bruised and scratched knuckles, flaming molotovs soaring through the air, crossed swords mounted on old walls, fading scars that stretch across shoulder blades

Athena

books with creased spines and dog-eared pages, owls with thick feathers and wide eyes, ornate swords and shields from ancient eras long forgotten, sharp eyes full of wisdom and knowledge

Dionysos

limbs tangled in red velvet sheets, wild and uncontrolled laughter, garlands of ivy and purple flowers, red wine spilling over the glass, kissing the lips of marble statues

Hephaestos

gears that fit together like puzzle pieces, the soft crackling of a fire, palms stained with oil and soot, the methodic clanking of iron hitting iron, gifts of handmade jewellery

Hermes

shoes worn through from walking, antique maps and globes and golden compasses, a messenger bag filled with letters and parcels, sly smiles and deft hands

Hestia

warm clean sheets, a small vase of flowers on the windowsill, warming your hands near the fireplace, cups of tea and home-baked fairycakes

“God, how painful it is, being angry.”

— Simone de Beauvoir, tr. by Justin O’Brien, from “The Woman Destroyed,”

ravenclaw theodore nott

for @snakepitnet event: taking a cannon to canon

the sorting was taking too long, while an eleven years old theodore nott shivered on the chair, praying for slytherin being screamed out, as his father was, as it should be

things seemed blurry and unfocused when the sorting hat shouted out a clear ‘ravenclaw’ and a stunned professor mcgonagall hurried him to join his housemates at the table

everyone looked at him like he had a troll head spurting out of his shoulder, but as theo sat down and clang to a cup full of water, he smiled to himself

because it was during the first night theo spent in the ravenclaw tower, looking at the very dark, very starry sky, lost in it’s infinity, that he felt truly free

his father’s owls were insistent and constant, but he knew that nothing could change the fact the sorting hat chose ravenclaw, the hat was never wrong

after the second week, the last owl he received from his father, was a single sentence letter, written angrily with dark ink “no son of mine is a ravenclaw”, and theodore nott smiled to himself again, overtaken by the same sense of freedom when he looked up at the sky from the ravenclaw tower

Keep reading

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*

I think another big thing with the Weasleys kids is the age breakdown. Percy is closer in age to Ginny than he is to Bill—that whole bottom five is squished together, and it creates some weird dynamics. When Harry meets the Weasleys, Percy Seems like the oldest. But he’s not *really.* He is very much a middle child. Even though he’s two years above the twins in School, their birthdays put them at closer to a year and a half…much closer than the almost four years between Percy and Charlie.

I always got the impression that Charlie and Bill were their own unit—and the rest of the kids were the babies. Now, Percy is kind of the leader of the babies, but he’s still a baby.

And that’s immediately apparent when Bill and Charlie come home in GoF. They are cool and sophisticated and looked up to…and Percy argues with his little brothers. He DOES get included with his big brothers in fighting the Death Eaters…but he drops back down quickly to the Kid Section as soon as the crisis is over.

It’s an awkward place for Percy to be, and I think it contributes to his Ugly Duckling syndrome. Because to his younger siblings, he vacillates wildly between being almost a peer to being Mum’s Second in Command. They don’t know what to make of him: will he play with them today, or is today a day where he’s writing a report to Mum? And his older brothers are just…too old growing up to really engage with him.

Percy’s in this spot where he needs to take a position of leadership and responsibility in the family—because Bill and Charlie leave for school and then work well before they stop being Needed at home—but Percy’s also so Young when that happens.

And Percy takes on that emotional burden. Sometimes smugly: “Ginny has Other Brothers to set an example for her,” sometimes with a temper that reveals how close in age he truly is to them (see: every interaction with the twins), but more often than not, it’s very sincere and poignant. Percy doesn’t ASK his siblings to like him. He seems pretty okay doing his own thing in life. But he Does constantly look to and move to protect them. He loves them in a way that’s really almost parental, when it’s all said it done. It’s flawed as a sibling relationship, and I hope that as they grow up, that weirdness in ages evens out and they can all relate to each other as peers. But it is something really interesting.

History of Magic Meme: [½] Founders → Helga Hufflepuff

“Sweet Hufflepuff from valley broad“

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.

okay but...

Harry insists on buying a CD player for his home in London with Ginny. 

Curious, he buys her a CD, one that he knows a lot of Muggle girls like but he’s only ever heard in passing. (He’s had Dark Lords and Death Eaters to worry about, you know.) 

And within minutes he regrets his life choices because Ginny is rocking out to “I Want It That Way” by some boy band called the Backstreet Boys on repeat. 

She asks Hermione about them and they buy every single boy band album from the 80′s on. 

They continue this for several years as new albums come out and Harry has more or less given Ginny the CD player. 

(Not that he particularly minds because she’s actually kind of cute when she’s dancing and singing along with a young Teddy and she doesn’t think he’s looking.)

She puts headphones on her pregnant belly and tells James Sirius Potter that he’s going to be such a charmer. 

Harry protests that she’s going to brainwash their baby before he’s even born but when has she ever taken his half-hearted arguments seriously? 

Eighteen years later James Sirius is tall and broad, a chiseled mix of Bill’s height and Fred and George’s stockiness, and singing some song that he’s heard Ginny hum before and Teddy pretends he isn’t watching him with a lopsided smile. 

James pretends that Teddy isn’t pretending to watch him

Harry pretends that he isn’t seeing them silently flirt and mumbles to Ginny that it’s all her fault with a light smile on his face. 

Ginny laughs and continues braiding Lily Luna’s hair. 

“But he’s charming, isn’t he?” 

Harry looks up from his morning paper just in time to see James Sirius holding out a sunflower he conjured in his palm to Teddy and Teddy rolling his eyes despite his blush. 

“Oh, he’s good.” 

“And you said I was brainwashing him.” 

They share a glance and laugh together quietly, happy that their son is boy band trash/a romantic sap.

A discreet Portkey was set up for him once a year.  It was usually an empty bottle brought up from the kitchen, except for the time Fred Weasley managed to enchant all the bottles to hide themselves around the castle and explode into different colored confetti any time a prefect walked by.  That year, he had to make do with a biscuit tin.

  Anthony often thought that he’d just skip it.   He was usually only just digging into his classes for the year, and there was always at least three essays he would have to finish when he got back.  He sometimes started to write the letter to his mum telling her he’d be staying at Hogwarts before the guilt would overwhelm him.

  The truth was, he wasn’t sure he believed in any of it any more.  He lived in a world where bushes really did catch fire without flame, where water could be made to spurt from a stone.  Those wonderful, terrifying tales he grew up with could really be true- and that made him question his faith.

  But he went.  Every year.

  Every year, he felt the jerk under his navel, landed dizzily in the field behind his house.  Every year he entered the warm kitchen, smelling of freshly baked challah and sweet apples.  Every year he helped his mother clean up after dinner, licking the honey off the spoon she offered him as a treat.

  Every year he recited the same prayers, sung the same melodies, told the same lies to the friends and neighbors he saw at shul.  Every year, he felt the slight dizziness and unreality that came with fasting.  Every year, he watched as tears rolled down his mother’s cheek as she recited the Yizkor for his father.

  Every year, he cried too.

  And every year, when the kugel had been eaten and the kitchen was in a state of controlled disaster, Anthony Goldstein would kiss his mother on the cheek, gather up the leftovers she had neatly wrapped for him, and walk out to find the empty bottle in the middle of the field.

  And returned to the real world.

(Source: thejdc.convio.net)

L'shanah tovah, lovely followers!  May your new year be sweet and full of joy.

"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.”