#oh my god #look at this #how it starts off with reds and oranges and purples #bright colors #and then it gets continuously darker towards the end #it’s so fitting to the story #and then there is that strip of white at the end #which has to be the king’s cross scene #and it’s just #light #in a dark time #which is extremely beautiful
Every frame of the Harry Potter movies, condensed into a barcode.
you know why theres a white part at the end? because happiness can be found even in the darkest of times
only the harry potter fandom would make me have feelings about color stripes.
"…if only one remembers to turn on the light."
Most of my life has been spent trying to shrink myself. Trying to become smaller. Quieter. Less sensitive. Less opinionated. Less needy. Less me. Because I didn’t want to be a burden. I didn’t want to be too much or push people away. I wanted people to like me. I wanted to be cared for and valued. I wanted to be wanted. So for years, I sacrificed myself for the sake of making other people happy. And for years, I suffered. But I’m tired of suffering, and I’m done shrinking. It’s not my job to change who I am in order to become someone else’s idea of a worthwhile human being. I am worthwhile. Not because other people think I am, but because I exist, and therefore I matter. My thoughts matter. My feelings matter. My voice matters. And with or without anyone’s permission or approval, I will continue to be who I am and speak my truth. Even if it makes people angry. Even if it makes them uncomfortable. Even if they choose to leave. I refuse to shrink. I choose to take up space. I choose to honor my feelings. I choose to give myself permission to get my needs met. I choose to make self-care a priority. I choose me.
What would it be like if the U.S. was war torn like Syria? A new video by international NGO Save the Children imagines just that, through the eyes of a young girl:
The disturbing video features shots of the girl as she goes about her normal life over the course of a year. The video begins and ends with the child celebrating her birthday. Between shots, we see how her life changes dramatically as war ravages her country.
THIS IS SO IMPORTANT WHY DOES IT ONLY HAVE 32 NOTES
Anonymous asked: are there any classical/instrumental pieces that remind you of sherlolly?
Indeed there are, Nonny. Not many, but a few.
- Opus 37; Dustin O’Halloran.
A broken and emotionally exhausted Sherlock, soon after the Fall when he’s hiding in Molly’s flat and realizing what a massive change this marks in his life, crawls into Molly’s bed and cuddles her close, needing just a breath of human contact before he disappears for two years. Molly says nothing, but merely lets him hold her, gently entwining her fingers with his. It isn’t romantic or anything, but she can’t help but feel a little hollow when she wakes the next morning to find his side of the bed still warm, but empty.
- Love in Murmansk; Alexandre Desplat.
Domestic!Sherlolly. Molly wakes and pads into the kitchen to find Sherlock conducting another experiment. Molly merely cuddles Sherlock from behind and kisses at him between his shoulders, leading to a hidden grin from Sherlock. Molly begins making breakfast, discussing Sherlock’s experiment as she does so. When he doesn’t stop to eat (he claims he’s far too busy), she quietly stands beside him and feeds him little portions of food as he works. A couple of hours later, he wonders why he’s not hungry. Molly giggles to herself.
- Clair de Lune; Claude Debussy.
Something they listen to when they’re older and greyer but still find each other incredibly beautiful. Sherlock’s upset because his arthritis has finally stopped him from playing his beloved violin. To comfort him, Molly plays this song and helps him stand, saying: “You might not be able to play, but you can still dance.” From that point on, they always dance together, every Saturday afternoon when the street’s quiet and nothing much is happening. That’s when they play this song and dance around the living room, slowly and gently. Sometimes, when he’s feeling really at peace, Sherlock hums.
- Nocturne No. 2; Frederic Chopin.
The morning after they’ve first been together. Sherlock wakes to find Molly snuggled tightly against him, the blankets bunched tightly against her tiny form. He makes a mental memo to ask her about the habit later, but for now, he’s content to lie back and carress her skin, his fingers tracing gentle circular patterns on the small of her back. When she wakes, looking up at him with hooded eyelids and a sleepy smile on her face, he returns that same smile. They don’t exchange words; there’s no need to.
- Un bel di, vedremo; Giacomo Puccini.
Post Reichenbach. Sherlock is in some small Italian cafe that blasts cheesy, over-dramatic music from a pair of speakers behind the counter. This song comes on. He knows Italian—he learned it on the flight over—and hears the lyrics. “One good day, we will see…” the song sings. It progresses. He’s reminded of John, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade… Molly. The life he’s left behind. He scoffs at the sentiment, and leaves before the song reaches its crescendo, but his determination to bring down Moriarty is stronger than it has ever been—if only so he can finally go home.
- Le Carnaval des Animaux — Le Cygne; Camille Saint-Saëns.
If Molly were to pick a favourite classical piece, it would be this. Sherlock learns it for her as a birthday present, and he’s confused when she becomes teary-eyed. She admits to him that it’s her favourite song because it was her father’s favourite too. Sherlock doesn’t know what to say—he still hasn’t got the hang of comforting people, but he’s learning—so he just bends down and kisses her hair. She smiles in thanks.
- To Build a Home; The Cinematic Orchestra.
Domestic!Sherlolly, again. Molly is curled up on the sofa, book in her lap and Toby at her feet. The radio’s on. In the kitchen, she hears the familiar mutterings and minor explosions that come with Sherlock experimenting. She goes to take a sip of her tea, but it’s cold. Grimacing, she unfurls herself—Toby glares accusingly at her for moving—and steps into the kitchen. This song comes on. She begins making herself some coffee, glancing at the sight of Sherlock in a dressing gown, goggles and two beakers in his hand. She smiles, realising this is the man she loves. As the song builds to its crescendo and the kettle is almost boiled, she steps towards Sherlock and gently taps him on the shoulder. He looks at her, eyebrow raised. Standing on her tiptoes, she tenderly kisses him. He asks her what that was for. She shrugs as the kettle boils, but says nothing. It takes a while for Sherlock to get used to her spontaneous bouts of affection, but in the end, he finds he quite likes them. After a couple of years, he even starts doing them himself.
- Theme (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind); Jon Brion.
There’s a party being held at 221b Baker Street. John is the centre of attention—it’s his birthday. He stands in the corner of the room with Mary, the two of them chatting to Lestrade and keeping a weather eye on his two year old daughter. He spies Sherlock on the armchair, eyes closed as he plucks at his violin—his way of coping. He only opens them when Molly steps near to him and kisses his hair. He takes her by the wrist, gently drawing her onto his lap. They talk in murmurings. John kind of wonders what Sherlock’s saying, but when Molly blushes red and grins widely, he decides to leave it. It warms him though, to know that his friend has found someone—even if he’s vastly overdue in doing so.
- Nemo’s Egg; Thomas Newman.
After hours of pacing and countless amounts of nervous deductions, a door finally opens. A doctor—wizened, married, three children, trustworthy—pokes his head around the door. He’s smiling. There were complications, but they’ve made it through. John claps him on the shoulder. Sherlock dives through the door. There they are: Molly, tired and drenched in sweat. (She’s never looked more beautiful.) Beside her is Mary, openly crying with joy. In Molly’s arms though, is the focus of Sherlock’s attention: a baby girl. He steps forward, and Molly lets him take her. His heart swells, but no words come out. He’s so proud; not just of the child he holds in his arms, but his Molly—his pathologist. Gently, he drops a kiss on her forehead. They name her Lily Violet Holmes.