Many Years Later


                    
                    
                

                

                

            

        
    







            

            
            

                

                    
                

                

                    

                        


	

	
    
        

            

                
                    
                    
                    
                    

    

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    Many Years Later: Mr. Roger’s still an inspiration many years later.
    

        
        
        
        
        
        
        
        
    

    

        

            
            

                
                Many Years Later: Mr. Roger’s still an inspiration many years later.
                
            

            
            
Mr. Roger’s still an inspiration many years later.

            
            
        

    



            

        

        
        

            

                






            

        

        
        

            

                






            

        

        
        

            

                






            

        

        
        

            

                






            

        

        
        

            

                






            

        

        
        

            

                






            

        

        
        

            

                






            

        

        
        

            

                






            

        

        
        

            

                






            

        

        
        

            

                






            

        

        
        

            

                






            

        

        
        

            

                






            

        

        
        

            

                






            

        

        
        

            

                







    Many Years Later: My son told me about a dead woman
 with blue skin, no hair, and black eyes
 who supposedly lived in our old
 follow us outside and try to get in our
 car but there was no room so she stood
 outside and watched us leave while
 I work with kids on the autism
 spectrum. One of them said: They can
 see us, but we can't see them."
 My daughter (age 3) woke me up in the
 middle of the night "momma, do you
 hear that breathingItold her that
 was me breathing, She said in a low
 voice "no momma, be very quiet and
 lilsten". I didn't hear anything but we
 slept with lights on the rest of the
 months early. Spent almost 3 months in
 the hospltal. As soon as my son and
 daughter in law brought her home,
 every now and then they would smell
 cigarette smole in the house and
 nelther of them smoked. Isabella would
 point to the walls whenever this would
 mom, known as Mimi. As soon as
 Isabella started talking she would ask
 about Mimi. 1 am not a church gaing
 girl!! She's4 now and still occasionally
 out of the blue will say she misses
 One night, when my daughter was 2
 years old, she woke and could not get
 in bed and 1 took our daughter on my
 lap under a blanket in a chair. We were
 both a bit drowsy when she suddenly
 raised up her head and said:"Hello"
 towards the wall where the door was.
 As my heart started racing, she
 as if she was on the phone with
 She stopped when I called my husband.
 I jokingly asked: "What's the best way
 7-year-old's response: "Tell her to be
 my girlfriend or she'll never see her
 passing me cake". I dutifully eat each
 "It was poison. You died." Oh, okay
 She then proceeded to "chop me up
 mix my chopped parts with some spice
 in a pot, and then serve the resulting
 Edit We have a lot of these, figured
 that'd be the one you guys would get
 the most kick out of, but we have quite
 I was babysitting a family friend's kid
 and it was just the two of us in the
 whispered to me: "We're not alone in
 My son was4 years old at the time, we
 and he got this really scared look on his
 face and said he wanted to go back
 inside. I asked him what was wrong and
 he pointed to the street (where nothing
 was there) and said the monster was
 staring at him. Seeing as how I krnow
 children can see things we cannot, I
 took that baby inside and said a prayer!
 My youngest daughter, who is now 25
 used to wake up in middle of the night
 between ages 3 and 7 and tell me the
 beautiful angel was in her room
 watching over her, and that she was
 dressed in white with glorious white
 wings. She would say don't you see how
 beautiful she is mommy? Many years
 later between 18 and 22 once again the
 lady in white would show up, and even
 speal to her. There was one time L
 actually heard someone say, are yo
 alright with my own ears plain as day
 me, she turned around and look at me
 and said, why wouldn't I be okay?
 That's when it dawned on me our angel
 was asking her and I had the pleasure if
 and
 stories
 will
 I want to thank you all for your contribution
 children related story, either it's creepy, sacd,
 fun or strange, and you consider it worthy
 of sharing, don't forget to send it to me at
Kids can say creepy things ( Part 10)
    

        
        
        
        
        
        
        
        
    

    

        

            
            

                
                Many Years Later: My son told me about a dead woman
 with blue skin, no hair, and black eyes
 who supposedly lived in our old
 follow us outside and try to get in our
 car but there was no room so she stood
 outside and watched us leave while
 I work with kids on the autism
 spectrum. One of them said: They can
 see us, but we can't see them."
 My daughter (age 3) woke me up in the
 middle of the night "momma, do you
 hear that breathingItold her that
 was me breathing, She said in a low
 voice "no momma, be very quiet and
 lilsten". I didn't hear anything but we
 slept with lights on the rest of the
 months early. Spent almost 3 months in
 the hospltal. As soon as my son and
 daughter in law brought her home,
 every now and then they would smell
 cigarette smole in the house and
 nelther of them smoked. Isabella would
 point to the walls whenever this would
 mom, known as Mimi. As soon as
 Isabella started talking she would ask
 about Mimi. 1 am not a church gaing
 girl!! She's4 now and still occasionally
 out of the blue will say she misses
 One night, when my daughter was 2
 years old, she woke and could not get
 in bed and 1 took our daughter on my
 lap under a blanket in a chair. We were
 both a bit drowsy when she suddenly
 raised up her head and said:"Hello"
 towards the wall where the door was.
 As my heart started racing, she
 as if she was on the phone with
 She stopped when I called my husband.
 I jokingly asked: "What's the best way
 7-year-old's response: "Tell her to be
 my girlfriend or she'll never see her
 passing me cake". I dutifully eat each
 "It was poison. You died." Oh, okay
 She then proceeded to "chop me up
 mix my chopped parts with some spice
 in a pot, and then serve the resulting
 Edit We have a lot of these, figured
 that'd be the one you guys would get
 the most kick out of, but we have quite
 I was babysitting a family friend's kid
 and it was just the two of us in the
 whispered to me: "We're not alone in
 My son was4 years old at the time, we
 and he got this really scared look on his
 face and said he wanted to go back
 inside. I asked him what was wrong and
 he pointed to the street (where nothing
 was there) and said the monster was
 staring at him. Seeing as how I krnow
 children can see things we cannot, I
 took that baby inside and said a prayer!
 My youngest daughter, who is now 25
 used to wake up in middle of the night
 between ages 3 and 7 and tell me the
 beautiful angel was in her room
 watching over her, and that she was
 dressed in white with glorious white
 wings. She would say don't you see how
 beautiful she is mommy? Many years
 later between 18 and 22 once again the
 lady in white would show up, and even
 speal to her. There was one time L
 actually heard someone say, are yo
 alright with my own ears plain as day
 me, she turned around and look at me
 and said, why wouldn't I be okay?
 That's when it dawned on me our angel
 was asking her and I had the pleasure if
 and
 stories
 will
 I want to thank you all for your contribution
 children related story, either it's creepy, sacd,
 fun or strange, and you consider it worthy
 of sharing, don't forget to send it to me at
Kids can say creepy things ( Part 10)
                
            

            
            
Kids can say creepy things ( Part 10)

            
            
        

    



            

        

        
        

            

                






            

        

        
        

            

                






            

        

        
        

            

                






            

        

        
        

            

                






            

        

        
        

            

                







    Many Years Later: It was Tom Riddle. Not snake-like, pale, and red
 eyed. Human. He smiled, not menacingly, but£
 warmly.
 Hello, Harry.
 Harry smiled as well. "Nice to see you again,
 In The Last Few Minutes Of Hisom.
 Life, Harry Potter Has One Last
 "is it nice? I was never much of a warm presence
 when I was among the living.I hurt many
 people. But most of all, I tried to hurt you. It's
 ironic that you were among the few who saw
 me as Tom Riddle, rather than Lord Voldemort."
 Talk With Tom Riddle.
 Harry Potter is sitting at home sixty years after the
 battle of Hogwarts, an old man now, when suddenly
 his scar hurts.
 Fear can drive you mad," said Harry. "I've seen
 it many times."
 Harry sat alone. The house that once housed
 Ginny and his children was near empty. Ginny
 had passed a year ago, and he had to admit it
 had taken something out of him. He had lost so
 many people, but this had struck him hard.
 Tom Riddle smiled again, somewhat sadly.
 Harry, we've got to go.
 Harry looked at him. There were tears in his
 eyes.
 He thought of his children. They all had families
 of their own, and they were supposed to be
 visiting soon. He sighed
 I'm scared." he said
 know." said another voice.
 No one knew he was sick. Ron knew, but he
 made him swear on his life not to tell anyone.
 He'd had a good life, and he wanted to go
 without a fuss. Enough close brushes with death
 had made him want to go quietly.
 Harry turned, It was Ginny, He gasped.
 Behind her stood every person he had ever
 loved and lost. Hagrid, and Dumbledore, and
 Dobby, and Lupin and Tonks and Snape and
 Cedric and Sirius and even the Dursleys. His
 parents stood next to Ginny, smiling
 He wanted some tea, but he felt too weak to get
 up. He took out his wand, then stopped. He held
 the old, etched wood in his hands, then lightly
 made sparks fly out of the tip.
 "We're with you, Harry." his mother said softly
 Harry turned to Riddle.
 Tom stuck out his hand. "Come, Harry."
 He smiled. He always loved how still, so many
 years later, magic still amazed him.
 Suddenly, his scar hurt.
 He wasn't alarmed by it, nor by the man who
 had appeared in the corner of the room.
 Harry laughed, tears in his eyes, his scar burning,
 as he grabbed Riddle's hand, and then left this
 world together with Death, as equals
daily-harrypotter-world:

Alternative/Extended epilogue to Deathly Hallows.
    

        
        
        
        
        
        
        
        
    

    

        

            
            

                
                Many Years Later: It was Tom Riddle. Not snake-like, pale, and red
 eyed. Human. He smiled, not menacingly, but£
 warmly.
 Hello, Harry.
 Harry smiled as well. "Nice to see you again,
 In The Last Few Minutes Of Hisom.
 Life, Harry Potter Has One Last
 "is it nice? I was never much of a warm presence
 when I was among the living.I hurt many
 people. But most of all, I tried to hurt you. It's
 ironic that you were among the few who saw
 me as Tom Riddle, rather than Lord Voldemort."
 Talk With Tom Riddle.
 Harry Potter is sitting at home sixty years after the
 battle of Hogwarts, an old man now, when suddenly
 his scar hurts.
 Fear can drive you mad," said Harry. "I've seen
 it many times."
 Harry sat alone. The house that once housed
 Ginny and his children was near empty. Ginny
 had passed a year ago, and he had to admit it
 had taken something out of him. He had lost so
 many people, but this had struck him hard.
 Tom Riddle smiled again, somewhat sadly.
 Harry, we've got to go.
 Harry looked at him. There were tears in his
 eyes.
 He thought of his children. They all had families
 of their own, and they were supposed to be
 visiting soon. He sighed
 I'm scared." he said
 know." said another voice.
 No one knew he was sick. Ron knew, but he
 made him swear on his life not to tell anyone.
 He'd had a good life, and he wanted to go
 without a fuss. Enough close brushes with death
 had made him want to go quietly.
 Harry turned, It was Ginny, He gasped.
 Behind her stood every person he had ever
 loved and lost. Hagrid, and Dumbledore, and
 Dobby, and Lupin and Tonks and Snape and
 Cedric and Sirius and even the Dursleys. His
 parents stood next to Ginny, smiling
 He wanted some tea, but he felt too weak to get
 up. He took out his wand, then stopped. He held
 the old, etched wood in his hands, then lightly
 made sparks fly out of the tip.
 "We're with you, Harry." his mother said softly
 Harry turned to Riddle.
 Tom stuck out his hand. "Come, Harry."
 He smiled. He always loved how still, so many
 years later, magic still amazed him.
 Suddenly, his scar hurt.
 He wasn't alarmed by it, nor by the man who
 had appeared in the corner of the room.
 Harry laughed, tears in his eyes, his scar burning,
 as he grabbed Riddle's hand, and then left this
 world together with Death, as equals
daily-harrypotter-world:

Alternative/Extended epilogue to Deathly Hallows.
                
            

            
            
daily-harrypotter-world:

Alternative/Extended epilogue to Deathly Hallows.

            
            
        

    



            

        

        
        

            

                







    Many Years Later: It was Tom Riddle. Not snake-like, pale, and red
 eyed. Human. He smiled, not menacingly, but£
 warmly.
 Hello, Harry.
 Harry smiled as well. "Nice to see you again,
 In The Last Few Minutes Of Hisom.
 Life, Harry Potter Has One Last
 "is it nice? I was never much of a warm presence
 when I was among the living.I hurt many
 people. But most of all, I tried to hurt you. It's
 ironic that you were among the few who saw
 me as Tom Riddle, rather than Lord Voldemort."
 Talk With Tom Riddle.
 Harry Potter is sitting at home sixty years after the
 battle of Hogwarts, an old man now, when suddenly
 his scar hurts.
 Fear can drive you mad," said Harry. "I've seen
 it many times."
 Harry sat alone. The house that once housed
 Ginny and his children was near empty. Ginny
 had passed a year ago, and he had to admit it
 had taken something out of him. He had lost so
 many people, but this had struck him hard.
 Tom Riddle smiled again, somewhat sadly.
 Harry, we've got to go.
 Harry looked at him. There were tears in his
 eyes.
 He thought of his children. They all had families
 of their own, and they were supposed to be
 visiting soon. He sighed
 I'm scared." he said
 know." said another voice.
 No one knew he was sick. Ron knew, but he
 made him swear on his life not to tell anyone.
 He'd had a good life, and he wanted to go
 without a fuss. Enough close brushes with death
 had made him want to go quietly.
 Harry turned, It was Ginny, He gasped.
 Behind her stood every person he had ever
 loved and lost. Hagrid, and Dumbledore, and
 Dobby, and Lupin and Tonks and Snape and
 Cedric and Sirius and even the Dursleys. His
 parents stood next to Ginny, smiling
 He wanted some tea, but he felt too weak to get
 up. He took out his wand, then stopped. He held
 the old, etched wood in his hands, then lightly
 made sparks fly out of the tip.
 "We're with you, Harry." his mother said softly
 Harry turned to Riddle.
 Tom stuck out his hand. "Come, Harry."
 He smiled. He always loved how still, so many
 years later, magic still amazed him.
 Suddenly, his scar hurt.
 He wasn't alarmed by it, nor by the man who
 had appeared in the corner of the room.
 Harry laughed, tears in his eyes, his scar burning,
 as he grabbed Riddle's hand, and then left this
 world together with Death, as equals
daily-harrypotter-world:

Alternative/Extended epilogue to Deathly Hallows.
    

        
        
        
        
        
        
        
        
    

    

        

            
            

                
                Many Years Later: It was Tom Riddle. Not snake-like, pale, and red
 eyed. Human. He smiled, not menacingly, but£
 warmly.
 Hello, Harry.
 Harry smiled as well. "Nice to see you again,
 In The Last Few Minutes Of Hisom.
 Life, Harry Potter Has One Last
 "is it nice? I was never much of a warm presence
 when I was among the living.I hurt many
 people. But most of all, I tried to hurt you. It's
 ironic that you were among the few who saw
 me as Tom Riddle, rather than Lord Voldemort."
 Talk With Tom Riddle.
 Harry Potter is sitting at home sixty years after the
 battle of Hogwarts, an old man now, when suddenly
 his scar hurts.
 Fear can drive you mad," said Harry. "I've seen
 it many times."
 Harry sat alone. The house that once housed
 Ginny and his children was near empty. Ginny
 had passed a year ago, and he had to admit it
 had taken something out of him. He had lost so
 many people, but this had struck him hard.
 Tom Riddle smiled again, somewhat sadly.
 Harry, we've got to go.
 Harry looked at him. There were tears in his
 eyes.
 He thought of his children. They all had families
 of their own, and they were supposed to be
 visiting soon. He sighed
 I'm scared." he said
 know." said another voice.
 No one knew he was sick. Ron knew, but he
 made him swear on his life not to tell anyone.
 He'd had a good life, and he wanted to go
 without a fuss. Enough close brushes with death
 had made him want to go quietly.
 Harry turned, It was Ginny, He gasped.
 Behind her stood every person he had ever
 loved and lost. Hagrid, and Dumbledore, and
 Dobby, and Lupin and Tonks and Snape and
 Cedric and Sirius and even the Dursleys. His
 parents stood next to Ginny, smiling
 He wanted some tea, but he felt too weak to get
 up. He took out his wand, then stopped. He held
 the old, etched wood in his hands, then lightly
 made sparks fly out of the tip.
 "We're with you, Harry." his mother said softly
 Harry turned to Riddle.
 Tom stuck out his hand. "Come, Harry."
 He smiled. He always loved how still, so many
 years later, magic still amazed him.
 Suddenly, his scar hurt.
 He wasn't alarmed by it, nor by the man who
 had appeared in the corner of the room.
 Harry laughed, tears in his eyes, his scar burning,
 as he grabbed Riddle's hand, and then left this
 world together with Death, as equals
daily-harrypotter-world:

Alternative/Extended epilogue to Deathly Hallows.
                
            

            
            
daily-harrypotter-world:

Alternative/Extended epilogue to Deathly Hallows.

            
            
        

    



            

        

        
        

            

                







    Many Years Later: It was Tom Riddle. Not snake-like, pale, and red
 eyed. Human. He smiled, not menacingly, but£
 warmly.
 Hello, Harry.
 Harry smiled as well. "Nice to see you again,
 In The Last Few Minutes Of Hisom.
 Life, Harry Potter Has One Last
 "is it nice? I was never much of a warm presence
 when I was among the living.I hurt many
 people. But most of all, I tried to hurt you. It's
 ironic that you were among the few who saw
 me as Tom Riddle, rather than Lord Voldemort."
 Talk With Tom Riddle.
 Harry Potter is sitting at home sixty years after the
 battle of Hogwarts, an old man now, when suddenly
 his scar hurts.
 Fear can drive you mad," said Harry. "I've seen
 it many times."
 Harry sat alone. The house that once housed
 Ginny and his children was near empty. Ginny
 had passed a year ago, and he had to admit it
 had taken something out of him. He had lost so
 many people, but this had struck him hard.
 Tom Riddle smiled again, somewhat sadly.
 Harry, we've got to go.
 Harry looked at him. There were tears in his
 eyes.
 He thought of his children. They all had families
 of their own, and they were supposed to be
 visiting soon. He sighed
 I'm scared." he said
 know." said another voice.
 No one knew he was sick. Ron knew, but he
 made him swear on his life not to tell anyone.
 He'd had a good life, and he wanted to go
 without a fuss. Enough close brushes with death
 had made him want to go quietly.
 Harry turned, It was Ginny, He gasped.
 Behind her stood every person he had ever
 loved and lost. Hagrid, and Dumbledore, and
 Dobby, and Lupin and Tonks and Snape and
 Cedric and Sirius and even the Dursleys. His
 parents stood next to Ginny, smiling
 He wanted some tea, but he felt too weak to get
 up. He took out his wand, then stopped. He held
 the old, etched wood in his hands, then lightly
 made sparks fly out of the tip.
 "We're with you, Harry." his mother said softly
 Harry turned to Riddle.
 Tom stuck out his hand. "Come, Harry."
 He smiled. He always loved how still, so many
 years later, magic still amazed him.
 Suddenly, his scar hurt.
 He wasn't alarmed by it, nor by the man who
 had appeared in the corner of the room.
 Harry laughed, tears in his eyes, his scar burning,
 as he grabbed Riddle's hand, and then left this
 world together with Death, as equals
<p><a href="http://daily-harrypotter-world.tumblr.com/post/152635597584/alternativeextended-epilogue-to-deathly-hallows" class="tumblr_blog">daily-harrypotter-world</a>:</p>

<blockquote><p>Alternative/Extended epilogue to Deathly Hallows.</p></blockquote>
    

        
        
        
        
        
        
        
        
    

    

        

            
            

                
                Many Years Later: It was Tom Riddle. Not snake-like, pale, and red
 eyed. Human. He smiled, not menacingly, but£
 warmly.
 Hello, Harry.
 Harry smiled as well. "Nice to see you again,
 In The Last Few Minutes Of Hisom.
 Life, Harry Potter Has One Last
 "is it nice? I was never much of a warm presence
 when I was among the living.I hurt many
 people. But most of all, I tried to hurt you. It's
 ironic that you were among the few who saw
 me as Tom Riddle, rather than Lord Voldemort."
 Talk With Tom Riddle.
 Harry Potter is sitting at home sixty years after the
 battle of Hogwarts, an old man now, when suddenly
 his scar hurts.
 Fear can drive you mad," said Harry. "I've seen
 it many times."
 Harry sat alone. The house that once housed
 Ginny and his children was near empty. Ginny
 had passed a year ago, and he had to admit it
 had taken something out of him. He had lost so
 many people, but this had struck him hard.
 Tom Riddle smiled again, somewhat sadly.
 Harry, we've got to go.
 Harry looked at him. There were tears in his
 eyes.
 He thought of his children. They all had families
 of their own, and they were supposed to be
 visiting soon. He sighed
 I'm scared." he said
 know." said another voice.
 No one knew he was sick. Ron knew, but he
 made him swear on his life not to tell anyone.
 He'd had a good life, and he wanted to go
 without a fuss. Enough close brushes with death
 had made him want to go quietly.
 Harry turned, It was Ginny, He gasped.
 Behind her stood every person he had ever
 loved and lost. Hagrid, and Dumbledore, and
 Dobby, and Lupin and Tonks and Snape and
 Cedric and Sirius and even the Dursleys. His
 parents stood next to Ginny, smiling
 He wanted some tea, but he felt too weak to get
 up. He took out his wand, then stopped. He held
 the old, etched wood in his hands, then lightly
 made sparks fly out of the tip.
 "We're with you, Harry." his mother said softly
 Harry turned to Riddle.
 Tom stuck out his hand. "Come, Harry."
 He smiled. He always loved how still, so many
 years later, magic still amazed him.
 Suddenly, his scar hurt.
 He wasn't alarmed by it, nor by the man who
 had appeared in the corner of the room.
 Harry laughed, tears in his eyes, his scar burning,
 as he grabbed Riddle's hand, and then left this
 world together with Death, as equals
<p><a href="http://daily-harrypotter-world.tumblr.com/post/152635597584/alternativeextended-epilogue-to-deathly-hallows" class="tumblr_blog">daily-harrypotter-world</a>:</p>

<blockquote><p>Alternative/Extended epilogue to Deathly Hallows.</p></blockquote>
                
            

            
            
<p><a href="http://daily-harrypotter-world.tumblr.com/post/152635597584/alternativeextended-epilogue-to-deathly-hallows" class="tumblr_bl...

            
            
        

    



            

        

        
        

            

                







    Many Years Later: When my brother was born in 1985, my mother
 purchased two identical teddy bears. The one on the
 left has been my brother's for 30 years, the one on
 the right has been kept in storage for my brother's
 first child who was born today...
noitsbecks:

breanieswordvomit:
foulmouthedliberty:

srsfunny:

Two Teddy Bears, Many Years Later

“Real isn’t how you are made,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.’‘Does it hurt?’ asked the Rabbit. ‘Sometimes,’ said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. ‘When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.’ ‘Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,’ he asked, ‘or bit by bit?’ ‘It doesn’t happen all at once,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”― Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit

ugly sobbing 

@upon-your-eyes
    

        
        
        
        
        
        
        
        
    

    

        

            
            

                
                Many Years Later: When my brother was born in 1985, my mother
 purchased two identical teddy bears. The one on the
 left has been my brother's for 30 years, the one on
 the right has been kept in storage for my brother's
 first child who was born today...
noitsbecks:

breanieswordvomit:
foulmouthedliberty:

srsfunny:

Two Teddy Bears, Many Years Later

“Real isn’t how you are made,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.’‘Does it hurt?’ asked the Rabbit. ‘Sometimes,’ said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. ‘When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.’ ‘Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,’ he asked, ‘or bit by bit?’ ‘It doesn’t happen all at once,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”― Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit

ugly sobbing 

@upon-your-eyes
                
            

            
            
noitsbecks:

breanieswordvomit:
foulmouthedliberty:

srsfunny:

Two Teddy Bears, Many Years Later

“Real isn’t how you are made,’ said th...

            
            
        

    



            

        

        
        

            

                







    Many Years Later: HARRY POTTER
 pumpkins leered from every corner. Harry led the
 Dean and Seamus, who were discussing those
 students of seventeen or over who might be entering
 There's a rumour going round, Warrington got up eaty au
 put his name in,' Dean told Harry. That big bloke f
 Hogwa
 Slytherin who looks like a sloth.'
 Harry, who had played Quidditch against Warrington,she
 his head in disgust. We can't have a Slytherin champion!
 'And all the Hufflepuffs are talking about Diggory,s
 eamus contemptuously. But I wouldn't have thought he
bait1598:
sprout2012:

madoneworld:

parseltonquinq:

peaceheather:

blueboxbellethethird:

prismatic-bell:

cinematicnomad:

aplatonicjacuzzi:

crazybutperfectlysane:

So I was rereading Harry Potter, when I came across this and thought- what if instead of Cedric Diggory, Cassius Warrington had been chosen to compete in the Triwizard Tournament?
Imagine Dumbledore calling out the name of the Hogwarts champion and it isn’t a Gryffindor, or a Ravenclaw, or even a Hufflepuff, but it’s a Slytherin. A student from a House most people hate.
Imagine Cassius Warrington getting up, and three out of four Houses are booing at him and shouting things like “NO!” or, “We can’t have a Slytherin champion!” or demanding a retry. But he’s a Slytherin- he’s been dealing with this shit since he got sorted, so he keeps his head high and joins the other champions.
Imagine Harry trying to catch Warrington alone because he doesn’t really want to associate with Slytherins (plus Malfoy has this tendency of being around the guy ALL THE TIME since he got chosen), but at the same time he’s also fair enough not to want him to walk into the first task unprepared.
Imagine Warrington walking over to Harry a few months later, and Ron and Hermione both jump into a protective stance, wands out, but instead of attacking Harry he just tells him to stick the egg underwater. (Because Slytherins don’t forget those who helped them out).
Imagine Warrington and Harry helping each other out in the labyrinth.
Imagine Harry being devastated when Peter kills Warrington- because Voldemort doesn’t care what house they’re form, a spare is a spare.
Imagine the uproar that causes among the Slytherins, because some of their parents really are Death Eaters and they know what really happened.
Imagine Slytherins fighting in the Battle of Hogwarts and shouting “This is for Cassius!”

Imagine Harry returning with Warrington’s body, and the crowd realizes what’s happened, but Warrington’s parents don’t show up. There’s no one to mourn him, to cradle him in their arms and cry for their son. The Slytherins know why. His parents were Death Eaters, too.
Imagine Slytherins reaching out, asking for help from classmates from other houses. They’re terrified, truly terrified because the being their parents claimed would never hurt them because they’re pureblood, they realize that he does not care.
Imagine Slytherins in the 5th book sneaking off to join Dumbledore’s Army, to learn more about who Voldemort is without their parents acting as a filter. 
Imagine the shock when they’re told what he’s really done.
Imagine that a few talented Slytherins went with Harry and the others into the Ministry of Magic. The others are a bit wary but they prove themselves as friends.
Imagine them being confronted by Lucius Malfoy in the the Hall of Prophecy, and when the Death Eaters descend, they know that any one of them could be their parents.
Imagine the shocked gasp of a Death Eater as they realize their own child, a pureblood, is standing defiantly with Harry Potter. They choke back a cry. They can’t let their child know that they were about to duel to the death.
Imagine a DA Slytherin facing off against their own Death Eater parent. That they make the decision to let their child defeat them, because in that moment, they realize that they love their child more than they fear Voldemort. They go down, mask unveiled, and the Slytherin kid has to be dragged from the fight before he gets killed.
Imagine Book 6 Slytherins getting more friendly and cooperative with the other houses. Two years of Voldemort terrorizing the muggle and Wizarding world, two years where their parents just up and leave some days, cringing from the pain in their arm, two years after the death of the first Slytherin pureblood, Cassius Warrington, killed by Voldemort’s right-hand man, and they’re slowly hitting the breaking point.
Imagine Slytherin kids keeping tabs on their parents, sending the information to Harry, who shares it with the Order of the Phoenix, and hoping that their parents won’t be killed.
Imagine Book 7 Slytherins low-key rebelling against the new oppressive Hogwarts staff.
Imagine the final siege on Hogwarts, where Slytherins stand proudly by their fellow houses, knowing full-well they could be fighting their own parents. Some Slytherins know their parents were in the fighting. They hope to find them first and sneak them away. Their fellow students understand. Professor McGonagall allows 7th Year Slytherin, Pansy Parkinson, to duel a death eater in her stead; her father is under that veil. She knows it.
Imagine the aftermath of the battle; every house suffered loses. Slytherin students crying over the deaths of friends they made in every house.
Imagine 

 a Cassius Warrington statue made in his honor, the first Slytherin to fight and die nobly with Harry Potter, the boy who lived, in the face of ultimate evil. He was a true Slytherin, and it’s in his name that Slytherin children and their families have cut all ties with the Death Eaters, denounced Voldemort, and are finally living in peace.

#i do enjoy cedric #but this would have been immensely wonderful in many ways (via batty4u) 

Imagine a story in which Harry wasn’t in love with his fellow champion’s girlfriend, but after her boyfriend’s death just hugs her so long, so hard, and says “he wanted to win for you. You should know–you should know he won, he did it for you” and gives her the best hug and shoulder he knows how to be because her parents aren’t there either and she must know why.

Imagine Harry staring over her head at everyone else until Hermione steps up–it doesn’t take long, but it takes long enough that when she does all eyes are on her as a source of motion–and says “we’re never going to forget this. They’re not going to get away with it” and the girlfriend just latches onto Hermione and everyone is in wands-out stance convinced she’s about to attack the shit out of Hermione, and then the girlfriend stares into her eyes and says “do you promise me” and Hermione just gives her this super-firm nod and says “I promise” and the girlfriend just collapses on her, sobbing. 

Imagine Dumbledore trying to give some flowery speech about inter-wizard solidarity while glossing over why, because Slytherins have always been a touchy subject, and Ron gets to his feet and says “Professor, I need to say something important” and Dumbledore is so surprised he just cedes the floor, and Ron–after that awkward moment when he realizes everyone is staring at him–says he didn’t know Warrington particularly, but he knows how Warrington and Harry played. That each was always cheering on the other. Both wanted to win, but neither was willing to undercut the other by underhanded means. He finishes up saying “I think–I think it’s important everyone should know he died being what a champion should be. Because he could have abandoned Harry and instead he stood up with him to play the game the honest way, and he died for it. And–and Slytherin House should be proud, and we should all be proud, because Warrington was a good bloke.” He sits back down all flustered because he didn’t actually stand up meaning to make a speech. And then Pansy Parkinson stands up before Dumbledore can take back control of the room and says “I want to tell Weasley thank you.” And all of Slytherin House raises a glass–to Warrington, to Weasley, to Potter–and the other houses follow suit. Many years later, Wizarding scholars will say that was the moment Voldemort truly lost.

Imagine later that summer. Harry gets several owls on his birthday, all unsigned. The birds are plump and pretentious and well-cared-for. He will never know which Slytherins sent him their treasures: parchments with hexes developed by the Death Eaters; a strange locket that will only open if he whispers a special spell but that always shows him the picture he most needs to see; a page torn from a potions book that, brewed properly, will allow him extra time to summon a Patronus by giving him a few crucial seconds not just of happiness but of bliss. It doesn’t matter. Harry knows these gifts not as birthday gifts but for what they really are, and he treasures the locket and copies out the potion to send to Hermione and Mrs. Weasley, and when first summoned by the Order of the Phoenix he marches straight up to Dumbledore with the hexes and says “I can’t tell you where I got these, Professor. But they’re in use by the Death Eaters and I think you should have them.” Months later, Sirius will recognize the spell Bellatrix shoots at him, and will dive out of the way just in the nick of time.

The final battle. Everyone is there. Sirius somehow ends up herding a group of Slytherins. They all stare at him and he at them, across a centuries-old divide Voldemort has only succeeded in deepening. Then he remembers the hexes. Harry’s locket, now tucked under Sirius’ shirt because Harry’s friends are with him in this battle but most of Sirius’ are dead. The moment that happiness potion saved Remus’ life, his very soul. Snape’s final words to Harry, finally seen not as mockery but real true advice. What Harry said Voldemort said–his first words in his new form. They are kids, and they are sharing the same kind of hurt he once wouldn’t admit to, watching his mother burn his name off the family tree. “When we go in there, it’s going to be hell,” he tells the Slytherins. “Some of you are probably going to die. I might go down too, and if I do I want your best curser in the front. But I want you all to remember one thing. There are no spares.”  Later retellings of the battle never fail to mention the moment a group of angry, screaming teens burst into the Great Hall, wearing their green and silver as the badge of honor it should be, shouting NO SPARES, NO SPARES at the tops of their voices in between hexes and curses and the occasional physical punch. When Hermione is present, she always interrupts the storyteller to be sure everyone knows about the moment Blaise Zabini shoved her to the floor, dropped on top of her, fired off three curses in rapid succession and said “stay alive, Granger, we need you” before jumping back to his feet and vanishing into the melee–how, for all anyone knows, those may have been his last words, and she will not let his sacrifice go unnoted. 

The aftermath. Malfoy holds out a hand to Sirius, badly injured on the floor. Sirius asks how Malfoy is willing to trust him. Malfoy nods at his chest. “You’ve got my godfather’s locket,” he says, and when Sirius and Harry finally speak after the battle Harry gives his full agreement to the very first thing out of  Sirius’ mouth. They give the locket to Malfoy. Sirius grits his teeth and closes his eyes and opens them and says “He probably saved my life, giving Harry that.” He doesn’t say thank you. Malfoy hears it anyway. 

The school reopens under a single banner: the four Houses united. The House rivalry is reduced to just that–a competition in fun–with those deep divides slowly healing to scars, and eventually away to nothing at all.

Imagine it.
When we stand, we stand united as one

And then there would be no hope for any uprising of evil, no users of the dark arts would dare to attack. There would be no neglected Slytherins turning to a darker cause. The unity Cassius Warrington’s death caused would come to save the world, time and time again, as would-be-Voldemorts find no followers. No children will ever have to fight their parents, or family. There would always be peace. 

oh christ somebody added to it and now i’m a soggy emotional wreck

I’m crying because this is what slytherins should have been and truly are

This is beautifully written and I wish it was in the books xx


This is such a fantastic read. A Slytherin triwizard champion sounds awesome.  

Best Harry Potter post

    

        
        
        
        
        
        
        
        
    

    

        

            
            

                
                Many Years Later: HARRY POTTER
 pumpkins leered from every corner. Harry led the
 Dean and Seamus, who were discussing those
 students of seventeen or over who might be entering
 There's a rumour going round, Warrington got up eaty au
 put his name in,' Dean told Harry. That big bloke f
 Hogwa
 Slytherin who looks like a sloth.'
 Harry, who had played Quidditch against Warrington,she
 his head in disgust. We can't have a Slytherin champion!
 'And all the Hufflepuffs are talking about Diggory,s
 eamus contemptuously. But I wouldn't have thought he
bait1598:
sprout2012:

madoneworld:

parseltonquinq:

peaceheather:

blueboxbellethethird:

prismatic-bell:

cinematicnomad:

aplatonicjacuzzi:

crazybutperfectlysane:

So I was rereading Harry Potter, when I came across this and thought- what if instead of Cedric Diggory, Cassius Warrington had been chosen to compete in the Triwizard Tournament?
Imagine Dumbledore calling out the name of the Hogwarts champion and it isn’t a Gryffindor, or a Ravenclaw, or even a Hufflepuff, but it’s a Slytherin. A student from a House most people hate.
Imagine Cassius Warrington getting up, and three out of four Houses are booing at him and shouting things like “NO!” or, “We can’t have a Slytherin champion!” or demanding a retry. But he’s a Slytherin- he’s been dealing with this shit since he got sorted, so he keeps his head high and joins the other champions.
Imagine Harry trying to catch Warrington alone because he doesn’t really want to associate with Slytherins (plus Malfoy has this tendency of being around the guy ALL THE TIME since he got chosen), but at the same time he’s also fair enough not to want him to walk into the first task unprepared.
Imagine Warrington walking over to Harry a few months later, and Ron and Hermione both jump into a protective stance, wands out, but instead of attacking Harry he just tells him to stick the egg underwater. (Because Slytherins don’t forget those who helped them out).
Imagine Warrington and Harry helping each other out in the labyrinth.
Imagine Harry being devastated when Peter kills Warrington- because Voldemort doesn’t care what house they’re form, a spare is a spare.
Imagine the uproar that causes among the Slytherins, because some of their parents really are Death Eaters and they know what really happened.
Imagine Slytherins fighting in the Battle of Hogwarts and shouting “This is for Cassius!”

Imagine Harry returning with Warrington’s body, and the crowd realizes what’s happened, but Warrington’s parents don’t show up. There’s no one to mourn him, to cradle him in their arms and cry for their son. The Slytherins know why. His parents were Death Eaters, too.
Imagine Slytherins reaching out, asking for help from classmates from other houses. They’re terrified, truly terrified because the being their parents claimed would never hurt them because they’re pureblood, they realize that he does not care.
Imagine Slytherins in the 5th book sneaking off to join Dumbledore’s Army, to learn more about who Voldemort is without their parents acting as a filter. 
Imagine the shock when they’re told what he’s really done.
Imagine that a few talented Slytherins went with Harry and the others into the Ministry of Magic. The others are a bit wary but they prove themselves as friends.
Imagine them being confronted by Lucius Malfoy in the the Hall of Prophecy, and when the Death Eaters descend, they know that any one of them could be their parents.
Imagine the shocked gasp of a Death Eater as they realize their own child, a pureblood, is standing defiantly with Harry Potter. They choke back a cry. They can’t let their child know that they were about to duel to the death.
Imagine a DA Slytherin facing off against their own Death Eater parent. That they make the decision to let their child defeat them, because in that moment, they realize that they love their child more than they fear Voldemort. They go down, mask unveiled, and the Slytherin kid has to be dragged from the fight before he gets killed.
Imagine Book 6 Slytherins getting more friendly and cooperative with the other houses. Two years of Voldemort terrorizing the muggle and Wizarding world, two years where their parents just up and leave some days, cringing from the pain in their arm, two years after the death of the first Slytherin pureblood, Cassius Warrington, killed by Voldemort’s right-hand man, and they’re slowly hitting the breaking point.
Imagine Slytherin kids keeping tabs on their parents, sending the information to Harry, who shares it with the Order of the Phoenix, and hoping that their parents won’t be killed.
Imagine Book 7 Slytherins low-key rebelling against the new oppressive Hogwarts staff.
Imagine the final siege on Hogwarts, where Slytherins stand proudly by their fellow houses, knowing full-well they could be fighting their own parents. Some Slytherins know their parents were in the fighting. They hope to find them first and sneak them away. Their fellow students understand. Professor McGonagall allows 7th Year Slytherin, Pansy Parkinson, to duel a death eater in her stead; her father is under that veil. She knows it.
Imagine the aftermath of the battle; every house suffered loses. Slytherin students crying over the deaths of friends they made in every house.
Imagine 

 a Cassius Warrington statue made in his honor, the first Slytherin to fight and die nobly with Harry Potter, the boy who lived, in the face of ultimate evil. He was a true Slytherin, and it’s in his name that Slytherin children and their families have cut all ties with the Death Eaters, denounced Voldemort, and are finally living in peace.

#i do enjoy cedric #but this would have been immensely wonderful in many ways (via batty4u) 

Imagine a story in which Harry wasn’t in love with his fellow champion’s girlfriend, but after her boyfriend’s death just hugs her so long, so hard, and says “he wanted to win for you. You should know–you should know he won, he did it for you” and gives her the best hug and shoulder he knows how to be because her parents aren’t there either and she must know why.

Imagine Harry staring over her head at everyone else until Hermione steps up–it doesn’t take long, but it takes long enough that when she does all eyes are on her as a source of motion–and says “we’re never going to forget this. They’re not going to get away with it” and the girlfriend just latches onto Hermione and everyone is in wands-out stance convinced she’s about to attack the shit out of Hermione, and then the girlfriend stares into her eyes and says “do you promise me” and Hermione just gives her this super-firm nod and says “I promise” and the girlfriend just collapses on her, sobbing. 

Imagine Dumbledore trying to give some flowery speech about inter-wizard solidarity while glossing over why, because Slytherins have always been a touchy subject, and Ron gets to his feet and says “Professor, I need to say something important” and Dumbledore is so surprised he just cedes the floor, and Ron–after that awkward moment when he realizes everyone is staring at him–says he didn’t know Warrington particularly, but he knows how Warrington and Harry played. That each was always cheering on the other. Both wanted to win, but neither was willing to undercut the other by underhanded means. He finishes up saying “I think–I think it’s important everyone should know he died being what a champion should be. Because he could have abandoned Harry and instead he stood up with him to play the game the honest way, and he died for it. And–and Slytherin House should be proud, and we should all be proud, because Warrington was a good bloke.” He sits back down all flustered because he didn’t actually stand up meaning to make a speech. And then Pansy Parkinson stands up before Dumbledore can take back control of the room and says “I want to tell Weasley thank you.” And all of Slytherin House raises a glass–to Warrington, to Weasley, to Potter–and the other houses follow suit. Many years later, Wizarding scholars will say that was the moment Voldemort truly lost.

Imagine later that summer. Harry gets several owls on his birthday, all unsigned. The birds are plump and pretentious and well-cared-for. He will never know which Slytherins sent him their treasures: parchments with hexes developed by the Death Eaters; a strange locket that will only open if he whispers a special spell but that always shows him the picture he most needs to see; a page torn from a potions book that, brewed properly, will allow him extra time to summon a Patronus by giving him a few crucial seconds not just of happiness but of bliss. It doesn’t matter. Harry knows these gifts not as birthday gifts but for what they really are, and he treasures the locket and copies out the potion to send to Hermione and Mrs. Weasley, and when first summoned by the Order of the Phoenix he marches straight up to Dumbledore with the hexes and says “I can’t tell you where I got these, Professor. But they’re in use by the Death Eaters and I think you should have them.” Months later, Sirius will recognize the spell Bellatrix shoots at him, and will dive out of the way just in the nick of time.

The final battle. Everyone is there. Sirius somehow ends up herding a group of Slytherins. They all stare at him and he at them, across a centuries-old divide Voldemort has only succeeded in deepening. Then he remembers the hexes. Harry’s locket, now tucked under Sirius’ shirt because Harry’s friends are with him in this battle but most of Sirius’ are dead. The moment that happiness potion saved Remus’ life, his very soul. Snape’s final words to Harry, finally seen not as mockery but real true advice. What Harry said Voldemort said–his first words in his new form. They are kids, and they are sharing the same kind of hurt he once wouldn’t admit to, watching his mother burn his name off the family tree. “When we go in there, it’s going to be hell,” he tells the Slytherins. “Some of you are probably going to die. I might go down too, and if I do I want your best curser in the front. But I want you all to remember one thing. There are no spares.”  Later retellings of the battle never fail to mention the moment a group of angry, screaming teens burst into the Great Hall, wearing their green and silver as the badge of honor it should be, shouting NO SPARES, NO SPARES at the tops of their voices in between hexes and curses and the occasional physical punch. When Hermione is present, she always interrupts the storyteller to be sure everyone knows about the moment Blaise Zabini shoved her to the floor, dropped on top of her, fired off three curses in rapid succession and said “stay alive, Granger, we need you” before jumping back to his feet and vanishing into the melee–how, for all anyone knows, those may have been his last words, and she will not let his sacrifice go unnoted. 

The aftermath. Malfoy holds out a hand to Sirius, badly injured on the floor. Sirius asks how Malfoy is willing to trust him. Malfoy nods at his chest. “You’ve got my godfather’s locket,” he says, and when Sirius and Harry finally speak after the battle Harry gives his full agreement to the very first thing out of  Sirius’ mouth. They give the locket to Malfoy. Sirius grits his teeth and closes his eyes and opens them and says “He probably saved my life, giving Harry that.” He doesn’t say thank you. Malfoy hears it anyway. 

The school reopens under a single banner: the four Houses united. The House rivalry is reduced to just that–a competition in fun–with those deep divides slowly healing to scars, and eventually away to nothing at all.

Imagine it.
When we stand, we stand united as one

And then there would be no hope for any uprising of evil, no users of the dark arts would dare to attack. There would be no neglected Slytherins turning to a darker cause. The unity Cassius Warrington’s death caused would come to save the world, time and time again, as would-be-Voldemorts find no followers. No children will ever have to fight their parents, or family. There would always be peace. 

oh christ somebody added to it and now i’m a soggy emotional wreck

I’m crying because this is what slytherins should have been and truly are

This is beautifully written and I wish it was in the books xx


This is such a fantastic read. A Slytherin triwizard champion sounds awesome.  

Best Harry Potter post

                
            

            
            
bait1598:
sprout2012:

madoneworld:

parseltonquinq:

peaceheather:

blueboxbellethethird:

prismatic-bell:

cinematicnomad:

aplatonicja...

            
            
        

    



            

        

        
        

            

                







    Many Years Later: The Richest Poor Man
 Born in India before partition and migrated to
 Used to work as a cloth sell on commission and
 beg so he could feed the poor
 Started his welfare trust with just 505
 This trust is the largest welfare trust in Pakistan
 Rescued more than 20,000 abandoned infants
 Daily shelter, feed and educate more than 50,000
 Trained ower 40,000 nurses free of cost
 Had over 330 welfare trust in Pakistan
 Ran the world largest ambulance service with over
 1500 vehicles 24/7
 Ran countless food kitchens, rehabiltation
 homes, shelters for abandoned
 Women and children and handicapped people
 Went on countless relief mission in Africa, Asia
 Europe and America such as aid for victims of
 hurricane Katrina
 Never won a noble peace price or demanded one
 Ten of his best quarts are
 1.My religion is humanitarianism, which i& the basis
 of every religion in the world
 2. "1 do net have amy formal education What use is
 education when we do not become human beings?
 My school is the welfare of humanity
 3. "Never take anyone's death to heart Bigus.
 Remember Ged by the equality with which He
 implements it. Nobody is different, the richest to the
 poorest, from here to the end of the globe face it
 4. "So, many years later there were many who sti
 complained and questioned, "Why must you pick up
 Christians and Hindus in your ambulance? And I was
 saying, "Because the ambulance is more Musim than
 S. "Empty words and long praises do not impress
 God. Show Him your faith by your deeds
 6. "Chasing after desires creates inner turmoil. When
 the devil becomes guide, dacoits and gangsters are
 manufactured. He makes men fight against their souls
 to survive expensive items and most lose everything
 in the face of his strangth. The internal enemy can
 only be overcome by a personal revolution
 7. The dead has only one place to go up. Wherever
 you bury them, they wil go the same way, up.
 &. "The Haly Book should open in your souls, not on
 your laps. Open your heart and see God's people. In
 their pight you will find Him.
 9. Thase who believed in changing the world were
 either hungry by circumstance or practiced
 deprivation by choice.
 10. "Appearance is a distraction, surrendering it
 develops truth and humility in abundance
 At the time of death, he donates all his organs to
 needy people
 His last words were
 Take care of the poor people from my country
 But the most amazing fact is that he never owned
 a car or build a house.
 The only things that he owned before his death
 was a charpie, a chair and a desk that his friend
 gifted him a long time ago
 His net worth before his death was 0
 Sorry
 No potato's, but if you are wondering this is a chaple
 Please, Please show this man some respect if
 you want to live in a world with more people like
 him.
Not a single word about the worlds greatest philanthropist but a 2-hr exclusive on Wimbledon. Abdul Sattar Edhi (8-July-2016)
    

        
        
        
        
        
        
        
        
    

    

        

            
            

                
                Many Years Later: The Richest Poor Man
 Born in India before partition and migrated to
 Used to work as a cloth sell on commission and
 beg so he could feed the poor
 Started his welfare trust with just 505
 This trust is the largest welfare trust in Pakistan
 Rescued more than 20,000 abandoned infants
 Daily shelter, feed and educate more than 50,000
 Trained ower 40,000 nurses free of cost
 Had over 330 welfare trust in Pakistan
 Ran the world largest ambulance service with over
 1500 vehicles 24/7
 Ran countless food kitchens, rehabiltation
 homes, shelters for abandoned
 Women and children and handicapped people
 Went on countless relief mission in Africa, Asia
 Europe and America such as aid for victims of
 hurricane Katrina
 Never won a noble peace price or demanded one
 Ten of his best quarts are
 1.My religion is humanitarianism, which i& the basis
 of every religion in the world
 2. "1 do net have amy formal education What use is
 education when we do not become human beings?
 My school is the welfare of humanity
 3. "Never take anyone's death to heart Bigus.
 Remember Ged by the equality with which He
 implements it. Nobody is different, the richest to the
 poorest, from here to the end of the globe face it
 4. "So, many years later there were many who sti
 complained and questioned, "Why must you pick up
 Christians and Hindus in your ambulance? And I was
 saying, "Because the ambulance is more Musim than
 S. "Empty words and long praises do not impress
 God. Show Him your faith by your deeds
 6. "Chasing after desires creates inner turmoil. When
 the devil becomes guide, dacoits and gangsters are
 manufactured. He makes men fight against their souls
 to survive expensive items and most lose everything
 in the face of his strangth. The internal enemy can
 only be overcome by a personal revolution
 7. The dead has only one place to go up. Wherever
 you bury them, they wil go the same way, up.
 &. "The Haly Book should open in your souls, not on
 your laps. Open your heart and see God's people. In
 their pight you will find Him.
 9. Thase who believed in changing the world were
 either hungry by circumstance or practiced
 deprivation by choice.
 10. "Appearance is a distraction, surrendering it
 develops truth and humility in abundance
 At the time of death, he donates all his organs to
 needy people
 His last words were
 Take care of the poor people from my country
 But the most amazing fact is that he never owned
 a car or build a house.
 The only things that he owned before his death
 was a charpie, a chair and a desk that his friend
 gifted him a long time ago
 His net worth before his death was 0
 Sorry
 No potato's, but if you are wondering this is a chaple
 Please, Please show this man some respect if
 you want to live in a world with more people like
 him.
Not a single word about the worlds greatest philanthropist but a 2-hr exclusive on Wimbledon. Abdul Sattar Edhi (8-July-2016)
                
            

            
            
Not a single word about the worlds greatest philanthropist but a 2-hr exclusive on Wimbledon. Abdul Sattar Edhi (8-July-2016)

            
            
        

    



            

        

        
        

            

                






            

        

        
        

            

                






            

        

        
        

            

                







    Many Years Later: HITTING BOTTOM
 Po Stone
 MEET THE NEW ACTION A-LISTI
 EMERE
 NAPE S
 KeSha
 ROBERT
 DOWNEYR
 IRON
 MAN
 Green
 Day
 POMECUAN
 Penks
 Cenguer
 Bebatwan
 Robert
 Downey Jr.
 Hardass.
 Flake
 Superstar-
 and an Iron
 Man, Too
 PLUSI
 MANDE LA
 SENDLEHUKEMOS
 O
 Fa
 SAMDOMA
 MINMAMAN
 DARMOTROUTIROKU
 30 HOLIYGIFT IDEAS
 TS
 RANDE
 PORNO VATRA
 Devjtku,
 IT'S GO
 TIME
 ROBERT
 DOWNEY
 kitn
 th
 Rankin&
 HeidiKlum
 ENATO
 BOHATÍ?
 JR.
 AVATAR
 gla
 Sarlock
 Robert
 Downey
 Jr."
 CHRISTOPHER
 PLUMMER
 BEST
 Matuniae
 His name is Robert Downey Jr.
 You've probably heard of him. You may or may not be a fan, but I am, and I was in the
 early 90's when this story takes place.
 It was at a garden party for the ACLU of Southem Califomia. My stepmother was the
 executive director, which is why I was in attendance without having to pay the $150 fee.
 It's not that I don't support the ACLU, it's that I was barely twenty and had no money to
 speak of.
 I was escorting my grandmother. There isn't enough room in this essay to explain to
 you everything she was, I would need volumes, so for the sake of brevity i will tell you that
 she was beautiful even in her sighties, vain as the day is long, and whip smart, though her
 particular sort of intelligence did not encompass recognizing young celebrities.
 I pointed out Robert Downey Jr. to her when he arrived, in a gorgeous cream-colored
 linen suit, with Sarah Jessica Parker on his arm. My grandmother shrugged, far more
 interested in piling her paper plate with various unidentifiable cheeses cut into cubes. He
 wasn't Carey Grant or Gregory Peck. What did she care?
 The afternoon's main honoree was Ron Kovic, whose story of his time in the Vietnam
 War that had left him confined to a wheelchair had recently been immortalized in the
 Oliver Stone film Bom on the Fourth of July.
 I mention the wheelchair because it played an unwitting role in what happened next.
 We made our way to our folding chairs in the garden with our paper plates and cubed
 cheeses and we watched my stepmother give one of her eloquent speeches and a plea for
 donations, and there must have been a few other people who spoke but I can't remember
 who, and then Ron Kovic took the podium, and he was mesmerizing, and when it was all
 over we stood up to leave, and my grandmother tripped.
 We'd been sitting in the front row (nepotism has its privileages) and when she tripped
 she fell smack into the wheelchair ramp that provided Ron Kovic with access to the stage
 I didn't know that wheelchair ramps have sharp edges, but they do, at least this one did,
 and it sliced her shin right open.
 The volume of blood was staggering.
 I'd like to be able to tell you that I raced into action; that I quickly took control of the
 situation, tending to my grandmother and calling for the ambulance that was so obviously
 needed, but I didn't. I sat down and put my head between my knees because I thought I
 was going to faint. Did I mention the blood?
 Luckily, somebody did take control of the situation, and that person was Robert
 Downey Jr.
 He ordered someone to call an ambulance. Another to bring a glass of water. Another
 to fetch a blanket. He took off his gorgeous linen jacket and he rolled up his sleeves and
 he grabbed hold of my grandmother's leg, and then he took that jacket that l'd assumed
 he'd taken off only to it keep out of the way, and he tied it around her wound. I watched
 the cream colored linen turn scarlet with her blood.
 He told her not to wory. He told her it would be alright. He knew, instinctively, how to
 speak to her, how to distract her, how to play to her vanity He held onto her calf and he
 whistled. He told her how stunning her legs were.
 She said to him, to my humiliation: "My granddaughter tells me you're a famous actor
 but Ive never heard of you."
 He stayed with her until the ambulance came and then he walked alongside the
 stretcher holding her hand and telling her she was breaking his heart by leaving the party
 so early, just as they were getting to know each other. He waved to her as they closed
 the doors. "Don't forget to call me, Silvia, he said. "VWe'll do lunch."
 He was a movie star, after all.
 Believe it or not, I hurried into the ambulance without saying a word. I was too
 embarrassed and too shy to thank him.
 We all have things we wish we'd said. Moments we'd like to retum to and do differently.
 Rarely do we get that chance to make up for those times that words failed us. But I did.
 Many years later.
 I should mention here that when Robert Downey Jr. was in prison for being a drug
 addict (which strikes me as absurd and cruel, but that's the topic for a different essay), I
 thought of writing to him. Of reminding him of that day when he was humanity personified.
 When he was the best of what we each can be. When he was the kindest of strangers.
 But I didn't.
 Some fifteen years after that garden party, ten years after my grandmother had died
 and five since he'd been released from prison, I saw him in a restaurant
 I grew up in Los Angeles where celebrity sightings are commonplace and where I was
 raised to respect people's privacy and never bother someone while they're out having a
 meal, but on this day I decided to abandon the code of the native Angeleno, and my own
 shyness, and I approached his table.
 I said to him, "I don't have any idea if you remember this.* and I told him the story.
 He remembered.
 "I just wanted to thank you," I said. "And I wanted to tell you that it was simply the
 kindest act I've ever witnessed."
 He stood up and he took both of my hands in his and he looked into my eyes and he
 said, "You have absolutely no idea how much I needed to hear that today."
 you should probably go to TheMetaPicture.com
What Robert Downey Jr. Did When He Was At His Worsthttp://advice-animal.tumblr.com/
    

        
        
        
        
        
        
        
        
    

    

        

            
            

                
                Many Years Later: HITTING BOTTOM
 Po Stone
 MEET THE NEW ACTION A-LISTI
 EMERE
 NAPE S
 KeSha
 ROBERT
 DOWNEYR
 IRON
 MAN
 Green
 Day
 POMECUAN
 Penks
 Cenguer
 Bebatwan
 Robert
 Downey Jr.
 Hardass.
 Flake
 Superstar-
 and an Iron
 Man, Too
 PLUSI
 MANDE LA
 SENDLEHUKEMOS
 O
 Fa
 SAMDOMA
 MINMAMAN
 DARMOTROUTIROKU
 30 HOLIYGIFT IDEAS
 TS
 RANDE
 PORNO VATRA
 Devjtku,
 IT'S GO
 TIME
 ROBERT
 DOWNEY
 kitn
 th
 Rankin&
 HeidiKlum
 ENATO
 BOHATÍ?
 JR.
 AVATAR
 gla
 Sarlock
 Robert
 Downey
 Jr."
 CHRISTOPHER
 PLUMMER
 BEST
 Matuniae
 His name is Robert Downey Jr.
 You've probably heard of him. You may or may not be a fan, but I am, and I was in the
 early 90's when this story takes place.
 It was at a garden party for the ACLU of Southem Califomia. My stepmother was the
 executive director, which is why I was in attendance without having to pay the $150 fee.
 It's not that I don't support the ACLU, it's that I was barely twenty and had no money to
 speak of.
 I was escorting my grandmother. There isn't enough room in this essay to explain to
 you everything she was, I would need volumes, so for the sake of brevity i will tell you that
 she was beautiful even in her sighties, vain as the day is long, and whip smart, though her
 particular sort of intelligence did not encompass recognizing young celebrities.
 I pointed out Robert Downey Jr. to her when he arrived, in a gorgeous cream-colored
 linen suit, with Sarah Jessica Parker on his arm. My grandmother shrugged, far more
 interested in piling her paper plate with various unidentifiable cheeses cut into cubes. He
 wasn't Carey Grant or Gregory Peck. What did she care?
 The afternoon's main honoree was Ron Kovic, whose story of his time in the Vietnam
 War that had left him confined to a wheelchair had recently been immortalized in the
 Oliver Stone film Bom on the Fourth of July.
 I mention the wheelchair because it played an unwitting role in what happened next.
 We made our way to our folding chairs in the garden with our paper plates and cubed
 cheeses and we watched my stepmother give one of her eloquent speeches and a plea for
 donations, and there must have been a few other people who spoke but I can't remember
 who, and then Ron Kovic took the podium, and he was mesmerizing, and when it was all
 over we stood up to leave, and my grandmother tripped.
 We'd been sitting in the front row (nepotism has its privileages) and when she tripped
 she fell smack into the wheelchair ramp that provided Ron Kovic with access to the stage
 I didn't know that wheelchair ramps have sharp edges, but they do, at least this one did,
 and it sliced her shin right open.
 The volume of blood was staggering.
 I'd like to be able to tell you that I raced into action; that I quickly took control of the
 situation, tending to my grandmother and calling for the ambulance that was so obviously
 needed, but I didn't. I sat down and put my head between my knees because I thought I
 was going to faint. Did I mention the blood?
 Luckily, somebody did take control of the situation, and that person was Robert
 Downey Jr.
 He ordered someone to call an ambulance. Another to bring a glass of water. Another
 to fetch a blanket. He took off his gorgeous linen jacket and he rolled up his sleeves and
 he grabbed hold of my grandmother's leg, and then he took that jacket that l'd assumed
 he'd taken off only to it keep out of the way, and he tied it around her wound. I watched
 the cream colored linen turn scarlet with her blood.
 He told her not to wory. He told her it would be alright. He knew, instinctively, how to
 speak to her, how to distract her, how to play to her vanity He held onto her calf and he
 whistled. He told her how stunning her legs were.
 She said to him, to my humiliation: "My granddaughter tells me you're a famous actor
 but Ive never heard of you."
 He stayed with her until the ambulance came and then he walked alongside the
 stretcher holding her hand and telling her she was breaking his heart by leaving the party
 so early, just as they were getting to know each other. He waved to her as they closed
 the doors. "Don't forget to call me, Silvia, he said. "VWe'll do lunch."
 He was a movie star, after all.
 Believe it or not, I hurried into the ambulance without saying a word. I was too
 embarrassed and too shy to thank him.
 We all have things we wish we'd said. Moments we'd like to retum to and do differently.
 Rarely do we get that chance to make up for those times that words failed us. But I did.
 Many years later.
 I should mention here that when Robert Downey Jr. was in prison for being a drug
 addict (which strikes me as absurd and cruel, but that's the topic for a different essay), I
 thought of writing to him. Of reminding him of that day when he was humanity personified.
 When he was the best of what we each can be. When he was the kindest of strangers.
 But I didn't.
 Some fifteen years after that garden party, ten years after my grandmother had died
 and five since he'd been released from prison, I saw him in a restaurant
 I grew up in Los Angeles where celebrity sightings are commonplace and where I was
 raised to respect people's privacy and never bother someone while they're out having a
 meal, but on this day I decided to abandon the code of the native Angeleno, and my own
 shyness, and I approached his table.
 I said to him, "I don't have any idea if you remember this.* and I told him the story.
 He remembered.
 "I just wanted to thank you," I said. "And I wanted to tell you that it was simply the
 kindest act I've ever witnessed."
 He stood up and he took both of my hands in his and he looked into my eyes and he
 said, "You have absolutely no idea how much I needed to hear that today."
 you should probably go to TheMetaPicture.com
What Robert Downey Jr. Did When He Was At His Worsthttp://advice-animal.tumblr.com/
                
            

            
            
What Robert Downey Jr. Did When He Was At His Worsthttp://advice-animal.tumblr.com/