<|:) wizard
<\:) the cooler wizard
Just because your hat is tilted aside jauntily does not prove your superiority. My wizard hat is set neatly atop my head so that it is secure against strong breezes and someone condescendingly flicking the brim
I can tell that people condescendingly flicking your brim is a recurring issue for you.
(via randomfandomteacher)
hogwarts house aesthetics
gryffindor
extensive lipstick collections from deep red to light rosé, lonely gas stations at the side of the road at night, rose parfums, freshly picked blueberries, resting against a tree after running through the grass, walks along the seine, vintage pins and stickers, metro stations at night, red theater curtains before a show, hidden vinyl shops, cobbled streets in foreign towns, open windows, laughing until you cry, Polaroid pictures, golden jewelry, midnight swims in the sea, small french balconies, evening banquets, vintage cars, bubble gum, quickly attached plasters, living off the adrenaline, dramatic monologues, stop signs
hufflepuff
bouquets of lily-of-the-valleys, freshly pressed juice, yellow ballet dance costumes, crystal glass, pearl necklaces, rosé eyeshadow, white messy bedding, old renaissance paintings, golden light shining through white curtains, healing herbs, long sighs, botanical gardens at night, spring breeze, the smell of wood, natural history museums, bicycle rides across the city, jasmine perfume, phonographs, photography picture books, hand-made notebooks, big vintage glasses, ukuleles, self-care, sudden melancholy
ravenclaw
the sound of rain, black coffee, oxford shoes, studio ghibli movies, oversized sweaters, old postcards, piles of books, train rides, nights in the library, ancient buildings, foreign boulevards, staying up until 3 am, unfinished notebooks, typewriters, flea markets, overhead projectors, view from the 76th floor, “what if”, dripping sarcasm, black and white pictures in glossy magazines, addiction to anything, late night conversations, swearing under one’s breath, hotel swimming pools, thrift stores, foreign languages, poetry collections, detailed journal entries, writing in the margins, opera houses, black glasses, pressed flowers, lavender perfume, analog cameras, sculptures, the night sky, obsession
slytherin
dark eyeshadow pallettes, silver rings, green velvet, collarbones, tweed jackets, family heirlooms, wearing bruises and black eyes with dignity, the atmosphere of bathrooms at a party, dimly lit lounges, chandeliers, blue artificial light, forests, marble floors, intricate architectural structures, black lacquered shoes, fine fabrics, wine glasses, cobbled streets, theatre lounges, white ballet dresses, black tie, biting your lip, dedicated eyes, printed letters, exit signs, smoke, airplanes at night, skylines, trench coats, high heeled shoes, thunderstorms, mythology, long shadows
(via kozywords)
being a macroorganism is so stressful. i want to know what my cells are doing. I don’t like how unsupervised they are
my cells govern themselves, I’m mostly just a figurehead
my body is a constitutional monarchy and i am its powerless queen
(via perks-of-being-chinese)
if i ever have kids instead of being like “it’s a boy” im going to send out highly bewildering cards that say things like “it’s the chosen one” and “it’s probably not a lizard” and “we’re not sure what it is, but it just set the couch on fire, please send help” with a different thing to every person i send one to just to see what people show up at the baby shower with
(via hotboyproblems)
One of the most bizarrely cool people I’ve ever met was an oral surgeon who treated me after a ridiculous accident (that’s another story), Dr. Z.
Dr. Z. was, easily, the best and most competent doctor or dentist I’ve ever encountered – and after that accident, I encountered quite a number. He came stunningly highly recommended, had an excellent record, and the most calming bedside manner I’ve ever seen.
That last wasn’t the sweet gentle caretaking sort of manner, which some nurses have but you wouldn’t expect to see in a surgeon. No; when Dr. Z. told me that one of my broken molars was too badly damaged to save, and I (being seventeen and still moderately in shock) broke down crying, he stared at me incredulously and said, in a tone of utter bemusement, “But – I am very good.”
I stopped crying on the spot. In the last twenty-four hours or so of one doctor after another, no one had said anything that reassuring to me. He clearly just knew his own competence so well that the idea of someone being scared anyway was literally incomprehensible to him. What more could I possibly ask for?
(He was right. The procedure was very extended, because the tooth that needed to be removed was in bits, but there was zero pain at any point. And, as he promised, my teeth were so close together that they shifted to fill the gap to where there genuinely is none anymore, it’s just a little easier to floss on that side.)
But Dr. Z.’s insane competence wasn’t just limited to oral surgery.
When I met Dr. Z., he, like most doctors I’ve had, asked me if I was in college, and where, and what I was studying. When I say “math,” most doctors respond with “oh, wow, good for you” or possibly “what do you want to do with that after college?”
Dr. Z. wanted to know what kind of math.
I gave him the thirty-second layman’s summary that I give people who are foolish enough to ask that. He responded with “oh, you mean–” and the correct technical terms. I confirmed that was indeed what I meant (and keep in mind, this was upper-division college math, you don’t take this unless you’re a math major). He asked cogent follow-up questions, and there ensued ten or so minutes of what I’d call “small talk” except for how it was an intensely technical mathematical discussion.
He didn’t, as far as I can tell, have any kind of formal math background. He just … knew stuff.
I was a competitive fencer at this point in time, so when he asked if I had any questions about the surgery that would be necessary, I asked him if I’d be okay to fence while I had my jaw wired shut, or if it would interfere with breathing.
“Fencing?” he said.
“Yes,” I said, “like swordfighting,” because this is another conversation I got to have a lot. (People assume they’ve misheard you, or occasionally they think you mean building fences.)
“Which weapon?”
“Uh. Foil.”
“No, it won’t be safe,” and he went off into an explanation of why.
Turns out, he was also a serious fencer – and, when I mentioned my fencing coach, an old friend of his. (I asked my fencing coach later, and, oh yes, Dr. Z., a good friend of mine, excellent fencer.) (My coach was French. Dr. Z. was Israeli. I never saw Dr. Z. around the club or anything. I have no idea how they knew each other.)
So this was weird enough that later, when I was home, I looked Dr. Z. up on Yelp. His reviews were stellar, of course, but that wasn’t the weird thing.
The weird thing was that the reviews were full of people – professionals in lots of different fields – saying the same thing: I went to Dr. Z. for oral surgery, and he asked me about what I did, and it turned out he knew all about my field and had a competent and educated discussion with me about the obscure technical details of such-and-such.
All sorts of different fields, saying this. Lawyers. Businessmen. Musicians.
As far as I can tell, it’s not that I just happened to be pursuing the two fields he had a serious amateur interest in – he just seemed to be extremely good at literally everything.
I have no explanation for this. Possibly he sold his soul to the devil.
He did a damn good job on my surgery.
Some god is slumming it on Earth with maxed-out stats helping people and his dive bar of choice is oral surgery.
(via rustboro-city)
