What The Houses Remind Me Off

Hufflepuff: *trying to study*

Ravenclaw: *zooming across the floor by sliding in their socks*

Hufflepuff: Raven, why aren’t you studying for the test tomorrow?

Ravenclaw: *skidding* theRE’S A TEST TOMORROW??? *crashes into a bookcase*

classic lit hits different than modern lit not because modern lit lacks depth but because there’s something so incredible about reading something and knowing that hundreds of years before you people were living, breathing, loving, the same way you do now. like one hundred years ago someone read these same words and felt them and read them just as you do today, and you’re connected despite the times that separates you

rainy day study aesthetic

> Slytherin

light drizzle, foggy window pane, studying with your best friend in a secluded alcove of the castle, bulky sweaters, distracted glances, dark mocha lattes, squinting at tiny text, notebooks with neat bullet points, the gentle purr from your cat cuddled against your hip, witty remarks about past lectures, looking over questions from old exams handed down by an upperclassman, exchanging notes to see if either of you missed any details

> Ravenclaw

heavy downpour, low rumble of thunder, kneeling on the floor at the coffee table in the common room, sweeping loose hair behind your ear, hot cup of tea, rereading sections of the textbook, sliding glasses up the bridge of your nose, underling key points, writing notes in the margins, a semicircle of empty mugs enclosing your study area, lots of leaning back and sighing in deep frustration, scoffing when a classmate asks if “so and so” will be on the test because the hell if you know

hanako is an annoying brat and i love it

If I could live forever and not worry about anything or anyone I would simply learn everything there was to learn about the world. I would attend random classes and study everyday about different subjects. I'd learn architecture and anatomy and astronomy and learn all the languages I could. I would study geography and herbology. I would write novels about everything I've learnt and pass my knowledge onto the future generations.

raskolnikov be like “I know a spot” then takes you to the bureau and tells you he’s a murderer

Dark Academia aesthetics for science subjects

Physics

Chewed lips and fingernails. Coffee rings on your desk, and books, and pages. A sparrow pauses at your windowsill - it turns to you, and you have the strangest feeling that it understands something that you cannot. The atoms around you seem to communicate. Your eyelashes flutter, your fingers are stained. Who are you. What is this. What is this.

Astronomy

Lying on cobblestone in loose, flowey clothing. Your hands are cold, but something inside you burns, quietly - in your sternum, in your gut, behind your eyes, behind your teeth. Pinpricks of stars on a velvet night, glints of dust on a sun-streak, droplets of rain on a windowsill. All of this, and you, are the same.

Botany

A candle burns on your desk. Scrapbooks are filled with sketches, and pressed flowers, and dried leaves. Vines creep over a stone wall. You drink herbal tea with the bag left in. Tonight you press wax stamps to handwritten letters. You sit and drink the moonlight. You whisper to the plant on your windowsill.

Chemistry

Loose, giddy laughter. Two friends, shrieking and spinning, alone in a dark hall. Ridiculous, unfeasible ideas. Chicken-scratch notes. Walking the halls of an old university, gothic and dead and alive. You spent hours and hours in the lab, so consumed you don’t notice the time pass. It’s dark when you step outside. You tremble with excitement. Tomorrow.

Medicine

Macabre diagrams of skulls and human anatomy on yellowed paper. Your journals are cryptic: the scratched cursive look like clues, the symbols, code. Nights and nights and nights spent awake, exhaustion tugging at your clothes and your eyes and your neck, but your mind buzzes with an electric determination that teeters on madness. Clasped hands, and quiet camaraderie.

Veterinary medicine

Untamed grass on a misty morning, embroidered with wildflowers. You wear an old dress, or a white shirt tucked into loose checked trousers. Dew brushes your ankles. Your fingers card gently over fur. A kiss just barely touches skin. Your mind is sharp, but your heart is open. There is a breeze through the open window.

Technology

City lights. Ideas that swirl - no, prick at you, fine needle points of inspiration that kiss at the base of your neck, your jaw, your head, and you scramble to turn them into something real. Rusty gears turn on an old watch. A quirked eyebrow. You smell rain on the pavement. 

Psychology

A lone ballerina spins in an abandoned chapel; a streak of white against darkness. Tea in a vintage teacup, spoon left in, on a neat pile of books. Quiet gasps, soft hands and cursive writing. The echo of footsteps. A hand brushes through your hair. A mist rolls in. You think this dawn looks like a dusk.

Marine Biology

Waves heave and undulate, like a great ribcage swelling with breath. You watch it from a lighthouse, blank faced and austere in a long black coat. A small flame of fear quivers in the hollow of your chest. At the old wooden desk, you work.You lick your lips and taste brine.

click here for part 1: (aesthetics for literature, classics, philosophy, fine art, political science, and history)

young adulthood is extremely lonely but also wildly freeing. i’ve gotten coffee at three different cafes today

*talking about a presentation*

Gryffindor: Are you gonna be nervous?

Ravenclaw: Am I gonna be ner- I’ve been nervous for 19 years.

“you changed” bro i’ve read "crime and punishment"