A Bird's Wing on the Window
Painted these tn
I want you beside me today.
Look, I made a gif of this most awesome wizard at the Leaky Cauldron!
DUDE IS READING ‘A BRIEF HISTORY OF TIME’ BY STEPHEN HAWKING
I NEVER REALIZED
are you serious
I always assumed wizards just ignored science, because the fact that “magic” exists, can explain anything. But there are MuggleBorn wizards, ones who, until they were eleven, lived in the real world and learned science and things. Did they all just abandon that normal, muggle knowledge, like Harry did? It’s always been there, itching in the back of my mind.
FOUR FOR YOU SCIENCE WIZARD
YOU GO SCIENCE WIZARD
can we point out that he’s doing wandless magic too
like voldemort couldnt even do that
molly weasley couldnt do that
who are you
Quick, somebody write a book series about the adventures of Magic Prodigy Science Wizard!!!
PLEASE SOMEONE JUST DO IT
Alan Baker had no use for wands, of course. If one were to Prior Incantato his outdated, duct-taped rod of walnut wood and dragon heartstring, its most recent use would have been the enchantment of the long-lived neurons in Alan’s own mind. This enchantment, possible only for those who were capable of seeing themselves as a complex amalgamation of neural impulses, allowed him to bypass both wands and words. Alan did this, not for show, not for power, but because wandwork distracted him from his reading.
Unfortunately, there was no legal spell to get rid of barflies.
“Hey- hey mate, you gotta- gotta minute to-“
Sobrius, Alan thought, placing one hand on his neighbor’s forehead without looking up. He pondered whether or not to cast a silencing barrier, even in violation of the Leaky Cauldron’s safety code.
“Thanks,” said the now-sober man, “Readin’ more of that Muggle trash, I see.”
Alan closed his eyes and counted to three, but when he opened them, the man was still there. Alan lowered his “muggle trash” in defeat, meeting the baggy, bloodshot eyes of the wizard sitting across from him.
Alan leaned forward, placing his hands steeple-like on the table. “Mr. Fletcher, do you know why time turners don’t send you into space?”
“The sky, y’mean? Cause they’re fer time turnin’, not apparation.”
Alan had to take a deep breath. “No,” he replied, “If time turners weren’t anchored to anything, the Earth’s rotation alone would be enough to ensure a time traveler’s demise. But someone at the ministry was clever enough to anchor them to a carefully guarded object that never moves relative to the Earth.”
“Fascinat’n,” slurred Mundungus, whose eyes had glazed over once it became clear that Alan didn’t actually have a time turner on him.
“But time turners are still very limited,” continued Alan, more to himself than to Mundungus, “They can’t go more than seven hours back, and not forward at all, and only in increments of one hour, and they only work on Earth… no, they’re very clumsy, if one truly pauses to think about it.”
“What’s yer point?”
“My point is that while wizards are slowly stagnating in their backwards remnant of the Dark Ages, Muggles are making progress, ever reaching for the light. Do you know that they don’t need magic to craft a hand of living silver?”
“Bah,” was Mundungus’s only reply, “You’d be best mates with that Weasley nutcase at the ministry, you would.”
Alan stood up, silently casting an infantes gelata to check for paradoxes. “I don’t know why I bother with you,” he sighed, “you’ve just wasted another two minutes of my time. Perhaps I bother because I have time to waste.”
And he twisted, as if to apparate, but instead faded out of existence with a distinct vworp. The air swirled in the wake of his departure, blowing back Mundungus’s straggly ginger hair.
“Muggleborns,” the short wizard muttered, then turned back to his drink.
Thirty minutes earlier, Alan lounged contentedly within his quieting barrier, stirring his cup of tea absently and rereading one of his favourite Muggle books. He wondered, vaguely, which planet held the nearest sapient life, and what their magic would look like…
This rereading, however, would be slightly shorter than the last. Even within the barrier, the presence of another at the table tickled at Alan’s consciousness. He set down his book (rather forcefully, he had to admit,) and looked up. The bloodshot eyes of Mundungus Fletcher didn’t meet him when his own rose.
“Hello,” mouthed the man. Finite Incantatum, thought Alan.
“Hello,” he answered, “Can I help you?”
“No, not really. Well, maybe. Well, probably. Have you seen anything strange lately? Disappearing cats, people moving backwards, variances in the time vortex causing precise and intentional reversal of the course of events?”
Alan couldn’t help but stare. “Er…now that you mention it, I was just…” he trailed off as he glanced out the window and did a double take. There was a 1960s-style Muggle police telephone box in the middle of Diagon Alley. “…Is…is that a telephone box?”
“No. Yes. Recreation. Mock-up. Don’t worry, nobody will notice,” the man said, waving his hand dismissively even as he pulled on a pair of what appeared to be cheap 3-D glasses. “What I want to know,” he murmured conspiratorially, “is what’s giving you that floaty, aurary, bizarrey stuff all over you, because that should not be happening to a human. Person. I said person”
Alan’s eyebrows furrowed. “First of all, this is Diagon Alley. Most people out there wouldn’t know a police box from a pillbox, especially given it’s bright blue. Second of all, those glasses shouldn’t give you the ability to see what you’re seeing. And thirdly, Expelliarmus.”
“Expelliwhat?” the man squawked, just as a long, chunky metallic object with a blue tip shot out of his jacket pocket and into Alan’s hand. A quick Identification spell told him all he needed to know.
“Fuzzy logic neural interface configured for ease of use, limited nonverbal manipulation of mechanical and electronic objects…Interesting. And leaps and bounds beyond anything wizards or Muggles can conjure up. What are you?”
The man stared at him for a few minutes before breaking out in a wide smile. “Hello. I’m the Doctor. Let me tell you a little bit about the universe…”
IT GOT BETTER
do u ever look at girls and just sigh because you’re really gay like really fucking gay
i love this post because I can’t tell if it’s a gay girl talking about how great girls are or a gay guy re-realizing how much he isn’t attracted to females
(Source: herooflife, via pursuingpleasure)
i want to fall asleep against the steady beating of your heart
I live by the beach and this little guy just popped by for a visit
Excuse me, do you have a moment to talk about our lord, Poseidon?
I would just immediately start crying
(Source: ryulongd, via itsdanicalifornia)
(Source: cute-overload, via itsdanicalifornia)
This is really not okay.
I think some people fail to realize that men can be sexually assaulted, too, and not just by other men. This girl shoves him against the wall and slaps him three fucking times when he pushes her away. Heck, he has to push her away twice before she backs off for a moment. Then she goes right back to kissing him.
If the genders were reversed, everyone on this site would be flipping a shit. And if anyone dares to tell me that it’s different when a girl does it to a guy, I will personally write you a three-page essay on why it is still not okay.
I’m just going to REBLOG this all the fucking time
I SWEAR I WILL ALWAYS REBLOG THIS.
(Source: hollabackhoe, via itsdanicalifornia)
BOND is a tiny touch module. It can be a pendant or a bracelet but it comes in pairs. You keep one and you give one to a friend. When you touch it, your friend feels it. No matter where they are on the planet. We don’t do tweets, we do tickles.
we need this
gonna put it on my dick
THAT IS NOT THE INTENDED USE SIR
If I had a dick I would put it on my dick
(Source: ldrsociety, via halfapart)
it’s very frustrating being a girl and trying to flirt with other girls like. you tell them, ur cute. ‘Aw thank you’ no. no i’m being gay with you. homo intended. damn it
I’m not even a lesbian but this made me laugh
r u sure pussy-destroyer3000
How can we decide what was truly love?
I think you just feel it.
It doesn’t matter if it was unreciprocated, how badly it all ended, or the depth of such love.
We are all such varying creatures, we imagine we love each other equal amounts, but we will never really truly know because we don’t know what we could be missing, we don’t understand another persons mind and heart as well as we like to pretend we do.
I think that’s why love is so frightening,
No one can promise you they won’t wake up tomorrow and feel differently, the next woman who passes them on the street could strike their heart.
What’s funny is that she could be passionless and indifferent and not even take notice of the change in the air.
Jump in, make love as if the morning never comes, obsess over their little details, the exact colour of their eyes, which eyelashes curl inwards instead of outwards, memorize the curves of his torso, where the bones press against the skin, notice the noises that escape his lips with every move you make.
I only miss moments
But as I reflect back
I can only see that I was fooling myself
Even in those rare, soft moments
I still find it quite disconcerting
That once we were in love
And now you’re on the other side of the world
And I deeply deeply
My name is Kinsey, I am 20 years old.
My only request is that no one steal my written words, my poems, my thoughts. Please feel free to reblog them or tell me if you hate them, love them, or feel so-so about them. But please refrain from taking them as your own.
I'm a dreamer, a hopeless romantic, I still believe in magic.