louise made a thing


french life ruiners: fanny valette, bérénice bejo, nora arnezeder, aïssa maïga, sarah kazemy, eva green, mylene jampanoi, louise bourgoin


I miss you.

It’s been five years, Clara. You made a promise, but I looked for you that day and you weren’t there. So, I left. I moved on.

No, but I was. You weren’t there.

most reblogged question from this post is 

if the Hogwarts letter specified that first year students may bring

an owl OR a cat OR a toad


plot hole?


i’ll tell you.

i’ll be dumbledore and answer this question with another.

have you read to kill a mockingbird?

if you haven’t, wtf? really? get on that.

if you have, you may recall this passage:

‘Everybody who goes home to lunch hold up your hands,’ said Miss Caroline, breaking into my new grudge against Calpurnia.
The town children did so, and she looked us over.
'Everybody who brings his lunch put it on top of his desk.’
Molasses buckets appeared from nowhere, and the ceiling danced with metallic light. Miss Caroline walked up and down the rows peering and poking into the lunch containers, nodding if the contents pleased her, frowning a little at others. She stopped at Walter Cunningham’s desk. 'Where’s yours?’
Walter Cunningham’s face told everybody in the first grade he had hookworms. His absence of shoes told us how he got them. People caught hookworms going barefooted in barnyards and hog wallows. If Walter had owned any shoes he would have worn them the first day of school and then discarded them until mid-winter. He did have on a clean shirt and neatly mended overalls.
'Did you forget your lunch this morning?’ asked Miss Caroline.
'Yeb’m,’ he finally mumbled.
Miss Caroline went over to her desk and opened her purse. 'Here’s a quarter, she said to Walter. 'Go to eat downtown today. You can pay me back tomorrow.
Walter shook his head. 'Nome thank you ma'am,’ he drawled softly.
Impatience crept into Miss Caroline’s voice: 'Here Walter, come get it.’
Walter shook his head again.
When Walter shook his head a third time someone whispered, 'Go and and tell her, Scout.’
I turned around and saw most of the town people and most of the bus delegation looking at me. Miss Caroline and I had conferred today already, and they were looking at me in the innocent assurance that familiarity breeds understanding.
I rose graciously on Walter’s behalf: 'Ah–Miss Caroline?’
“What is it, Jean Louise?’
"Miss Caroline, he’s a Cunningham.’
I sat back down.
'What, Jean Louise?’
I thought I had made things sufficiently clear. It was clear enough to the rest of us: Walter Cunningham was sitting there lying his head off. He didn’t forget his lunch, he didn’t have any. He had none today nor would he have any tomorrow or the next day. He had probably never seen three quarters together at the same time in his life.
I tried again: 'Walter’s one of the Cunninghams, Miss Caroline.’

Several things.

This was a first year teacher who had no class and who didn’t know these students.

Enter Minerva McGonagall, who is the epitome of class and who is also well acquainted with the wizarding families, having taught them for 30 years or so.

Four things McGonagall knew about the Weasleys:

  • red hair
  • loads of them
  • they belonged in her house
  • very, very poor

She knew that because everyone knew that the Weasleys were poor. The children would have robes that were too short, their books used and worn around the edges. McGonagall (and the entire staff, really) had seen Scabbers before, as Percy’s pet, but she had the tact and good sense not to say anything. She would have humiliated Ron by pointing it out, by questioning him or demanding that he send him back home or release him, and she knew it, so she let them be.

I made a thing