Dan And Phil In Florida 2017 ✨

Yeah, I have a pretty lousy memory. It’s true.

1. Last year the doctor told me that this kind of sadness is inherited. That they have discovered that sometimes it skips a generation. That the darkness inside me did not grow from nowhere it came from somewhere. I thought to myself, that there is a reason why I have always thought my heart was an attic where I hid pieces of myself. Pieces no one ever wanted. 2. The first boy I ever chose to show this sadness to decided to take it from my attic heart and planted it inside my soul instead. It was easy for him. My soul was a garden I showed him too soon. And he decided that meant he was allowed to take anything he wanted to. 3. Every man who has dared to love me since, has stared at this dark ivy covered soul like it is a haunted house, and I have never tried to explain the thing I have always known. Because men do not have to learn how to open their own selves and lock themselves up again. They are taught to be themselves and the world will accept them better that way. We are taught to break our bodies to be loved. We are taught to confuse sex and love. 4. I knew a girl whose father left her and she took all of her love for him and ate it to comfort herself. People joked how she lived in the kitchen. No one saw her tears when she ate. 5. A friend once told me that she locked herself inside the closet when her parents fought because her father beat her mother and she wished herself into the wood, just so she knew what it was like to be an inanimate object that couldn’t hear or feel anything. 6. My mother told me, that it is the way of the world for girls to grow into women by locking secrets inside themselves. Till now I still imagine every woman I have ever met as a big beautiful house. Full of secret rooms, hiding places, once filled with innocent laughter and joy. Now slightly sad and forgotten because of all those lost places inside them full of secrets.

Nikita Gill, The House Inside Her (via meanwhilepoetry)

“Dan, Rupert and Emma, and Tom Felton and Devon Murray, especially those kids, when I would have sick children with me on the set they would come straight up to me and start engaging with these kids and take photos with them and ask, ‘What’ve they seen so far? What was their favorite part of the film? What was their favorite part of the day?’” She reminisced about a number of touching memories from the set visits, including a time a young boy got to help direct a scene with Radcliffe in Chamber of Secrets. After the scene, the boy ran up to Radcliffe, threw his arms around him and said, “I love you, Harry.”

“All of us were in tears, the director [Chris Columbus], the cast, the crew, we were all tearing up. But it was such a beautiful moment, and Dan was so sweet with him. That’s the purity of Harry Potter.” […] Jay, a child diagnosed with Stage 4 neuroblastoma, was excited to visit the set [of Prisoner of Azkaban], “But what he really wanted was to be in the film, not just visiting. […] I said, ‘Well, we can’t really do that, and you’re already here.’ Alan [Rickman] came over and introduced himself to Jay, and Jay was so happy to meet him. He was really knowledgeable. He was about 15 at the time, and he knew a lot about Alan’s other films, and Jay mentioned to Alan that what he really wanted to do was be in the film.

“Alan looked at me, and he kind of went into his Snape-mode in costume, and said, ‘Why isn’t this child in the film?’ […] Everyone had a good laugh, and Alan took him by the hand and put him into the crowd of kids as they were panning across. […] [Jay] was very happy that Alan did that for him.” — Paula DuPre’ Pesmen on the Cast of Harry Potter [x]

the real allies

expect strong language and scenes of rage/despair as we play the hardest crash bandicoot level ever - STORMY ASCENT 

Jefferson was actually v soft-spoken. He didn’t like speaking in front of crowds, but when he did, no one could ever hear him and by the end of his speech no one even knew what he said. THEN you look at Daveed Diggs,,

freshly baked loaf of bread