I sincerely believe that by 7th year Ravenclaws would just tell the door to their common room to fuck off and it would open for them
Q “Why is a raven like a writing desk?” A “You shouldn’t shove either up your arse.” “…Technically, yes.”
Imagine it, a poor First Year is waiting outside the common room, they can’t answer the riddle in a way to appease the eagle and must wait until someone else to answer it for them. It’s getting late, they’re starting to resign themselves to having to spend the night here.
Suddenly, their saviour comes! It’s a seventh year! Back from a night finishing off their Araithmancy essay in the Library. They look angry, but our poor little first year squares their shoulders, waiting to see what will happen, and hope that they’ll keep the door open for them.
The Seventh Year bangs the handle against the wall, and a slightly disgruntled voice asks the question again: “What is the truth?”
The Student Replies, “The Truth is that I am so fucking sick of all these mother fucking questions about stupid fucking topics like this you bloody fuck-witted bastard. Who in the name of Merlin’s saggy left testicle gives a fucking damn about all this shit anyway? I’ve been working my arse off in the library for the last seven hours now let me the fuck in or, truthfully, I’ll blast my way in and take you with me.”
The eagle knocker tutts, but allows the student entry anyway, and our little first year enters, eyes wide and in shock. They watch the seventh year go up to their bedroom, awe all over their face at their new hero. They did, indeed, learn something that day by waiting for someone to arrive, they learnt that swearing has a magic all of it’s fucking own, and that sometimes it is big and clever to use it.
The only head canon I will ever accept. Its both perfectly witty and fantastically assholish
witty and fantastically assholish… pretty much quintessential ravenclaw traits right there
My favorite version of this headcanon is that there is one Ravenclaw who went all seven years by answering the riddles with some variation of “not a potato” and was only ever wrong once.
Victor and Yuuri are less Dads and more the rich gay uncles who just appear at social events 1-2 times a year with their 6 purebred Poodles and a gift that is worth more than the recipient makes in a year that they had been secretly wanting for months
me, standing in the middle of a pentagram I’ve drawn using my own blood, candles burning around me, on the top of a mountain during a full moon, voice slightly muffled by the ram’s skull I’m wearing over my head: so…is he into me?
the demon I’ve summoned: just fucking talk to him man
The chefs for Norway’s Olympic team ordered 1,500 eggs.
What they got was 15,000 eggs.
With Norway boasting a team of 109 competitors, the team’s chefs placed a bulk order for eggs from a local store. The order was apparently lost in translation, however, and they received a bumper batch – some 13,500 more than expected.
“There was literally no end to the delivery,” chef Stale Johansen said. “Absolutely unbelievable.”
The chefs have since been allowed to return their excess produce, with Aftenposten attributing the original mistake to a mix up with Google’s translation tool.
Although the excess eggs have been sent back, the Norway team can still expect plenty of egg-based dishes.
“There will be omelets, boiled and fried eggs and smoked salmon with scrambled eggs,” Johansen told Aftenposten. “And we hope there will be a lot of sugar bread made for medal winners. We have made our provisions for that.”
Plume de Lynx 