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Clifford the Big Red Dog: sistercrow lokanemandi: stormcloak Clifford the Big Red Dog by Sandara OH MY GOD Can we have a Clifford live action movie? Not a kids movie either Like, Emily Elizabeth's parents are working for a government agency developing a super soldier serum, None of their testing is working and they start testing the serum on larger mammals in hopes of seeing better results. They inject a variety of animals, including a dog. Nothing. They are desperate and on the verge of having their project shut down when they notice one of the test dogs is pregnant. It gives birth and they bring one of the puppies home for their daughter To their shock, the puppy they brought home starts to grow at an incredible rate, its fur mutating into a brilliant red as it does so. They are ecstatic because their research has finally seen a result, albeit one they weren't expecting. There is only one problem Clifford has become attached to Emily and refuses to leave her side. Emily, too, has fallen in love with her new pet. They decide to let their project be canceled rather than try to separate the two. Unfortunately the government discovers their secret and begins a campaign to retrieve Clifford at any costs. During the initial conflict, Emily Elizabeth's parents are killed trying to help her and Clifford escape Emily and her dog flee into the wild. This sets the opening of the movie Over the course of the movie, Emily and Clifford are on the run and we see Emily grow into a young woman, everything about her honed into a survivalist expert. She and Clifford roam the backwoods, constantly in fear of being captured. On one of her rare trips into town one day, Emily witnesses a bank robbery in progress involving multiple hostages. She calls Clifford and the two of them save the lives of the hostages but wreck the bank in the process. The local news capture footage of Clifford and it isn't long before the military arrives in town Emily wants to just run away again, but she sees that the military is destroying the town, driving people out of their homes and destroying property in their search. She decides that enough is enough and rides Clifford back into town and fights the military. Amidst the fighting a huge truck arrives. A general (who was her parent's superior officer) gets out and smirks. He tells Emily Elizabeth that Clifford's mother wasn't the only animal that gave birth to a litter of babies after receiving an injection. The back of the truck unfolds to reveal a massive tabby cat. The cat strains against its bindings and tears free, immediately leaping onto a nearby group of soldiers and devouring them. Emily is horrified and orders Clifford to attack What follows is the dramatic battle between Clifford and the mutant cat. Clifford has strength, but the cat is too fast and agile. It looks like Clifford is down for the count, when the townsfolk, recognizing that Clifford is on their side, come to his aid. They distract the cat long enough for him to finish the beast off for good. The military retreats, the general swearing vengeance on the two of them, and Emily and Clifford ride off into the night once more. But the legend of the big red dog has already started. And Emily Elizabeth knows that the day will come when she and Clifford will need to ride into battle against the forces of evil once more. The credits roll. Post credits, the screen fades to black for a moment. The sound of waves crashing on shore fills the air. The screen flashes brilliant white. The light of the lighthouse moves on, revealing a rocky shore on a rainy day. The camera pans down to find Clifford and Emily gazing out to sea. A massive object hangs in the air off the coast, obscured in the clouds. A smaller object rapidly approaches them. It resolves itself into an advanced helicopter that silently lands just down the shore from them. Clifford lets out a low growl but Emily quiets him with a hand on his leg. A lone figure emerges from the aircraft, huddling his arms around himself to fight off the cold. He approaches the two. His hair wears glasses and a grey flannel shirt and seems unlikely to pose a threat to the two. short and somewhat curly. He "Emily Elizabeth," he says over the sound of the crashing surf, "I worked with your parents. It's taken us a while to find you, after the Birdwell Island incident," "And who exactly is 'us'," she responds, eyes narrowing suspiciously. Ignoring her question, the man continues. "Me and Clifford have a lot in common, actually." He smiles a little awkwardly, then presses on. I was hoping you might be interested in meeting my boss. He's fairly excited to talk with you. "You still haven't answered my question. Who are you and who do you work for?" The man smiles. "My name is Banner. And I'm hear to talk to you about the Avengers Initiative" more Fun on likealaugh.org Clifford the Big Red Dog

Clifford the Big Red Dog

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fullpraxisnow: (Link to Tweet) “To be blunt: Nazism is democracy’s anti-matter. There is nothing about the ideology or its practice that is anything but corrosive to democratic institutions. Fascism is a cancer that turns democracy against itself unto death. There is no reasoning with it. It was specifically engineered to attack the weaknesses of democracy and use them to bring down the entire system, arrogating a right to free speech for itself just long enough to take power and wrench it away from everyone else.”  – Katherine Cross | Why Punching Nazis Is Not Only Ethical, But Imperative : Dwayne David Paul @DwayneDavidPaul I'm embarrassed to say that one of the most shocking things since the election has been folks' willingness to "agree to disagree" with Nazis 2/13/17, 2:42 PM Dwayne David Paul @DwayneDavidPaul I'm trapped in liberal/ libertarian bizarro world where folk lecture me on my duty to defend other people's rights to advocate for my death 2/13/17, 2:48 PM fullpraxisnow: (Link to Tweet) “To be blunt: Nazism is democracy’s anti-matter. There is nothing about the ideology or its practice that is anything but corrosive to democratic institutions. Fascism is a cancer that turns democracy against itself unto death. There is no reasoning with it. It was specifically engineered to attack the weaknesses of democracy and use them to bring down the entire system, arrogating a right to free speech for itself just long enough to take power and wrench it away from everyone else.”  – Katherine Cross | Why Punching Nazis Is Not Only Ethical, But Imperative
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horsemeth: troylerphanisbae: 21-fandoms: homuratrash: carry-on-my-otp: THERE’S A SEQUEL vine #1: “They say if you look at something for long enough, you’ll start to love it. [shouting] WELL I’LL BE SHOVING MY COCK IN THE FUCKING BRAKE LIGHTS” vine #2: “Americans drive on that side of the road. But in England, on this side of the road, you sit here and [shouting] DO FUCKING NOTHING.” vine #3: “Do you wanna live in London? Do you wanna live life in the fast lane? [shouting] GOOD FUCKING LUCK FINDING IT AHH.” vine #4: “Here’s another joke. So this American guy walks into a bar. Then an Australian guy walks into the bar. Then a English guy–well, he can’t [shouting] FUCKING MAKE IT.” vine #5: “You can’t just blame the foreigners for traffic, you can’t even just blame motorists for traffic. Sometimes it’s [shouting] FUCKING SANTA CLAU–” i truly believe this guy’s vines will be the cause of death omg I love these oliloli : horsemeth: troylerphanisbae: 21-fandoms: homuratrash: carry-on-my-otp: THERE’S A SEQUEL vine #1: “They say if you look at something for long enough, you’ll start to love it. [shouting] WELL I’LL BE SHOVING MY COCK IN THE FUCKING BRAKE LIGHTS” vine #2: “Americans drive on that side of the road. But in England, on this side of the road, you sit here and [shouting] DO FUCKING NOTHING.” vine #3: “Do you wanna live in London? Do you wanna live life in the fast lane? [shouting] GOOD FUCKING LUCK FINDING IT AHH.” vine #4: “Here’s another joke. So this American guy walks into a bar. Then an Australian guy walks into the bar. Then a English guy–well, he can’t [shouting] FUCKING MAKE IT.” vine #5: “You can’t just blame the foreigners for traffic, you can’t even just blame motorists for traffic. Sometimes it’s [shouting] FUCKING SANTA CLAU–” i truly believe this guy’s vines will be the cause of death omg I love these oliloli
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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 : 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
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lol-coaster: The King of West Brooklyn “Where were you born?”“Brooklyn.”“Any other defects?”–From a war movie.A Crime Thriller NovelBy David Alexander Dominick “Dee” de Venise’s textile warehouse has been in the family for generations, but he’ll have to torch it for the insurance money. De Venise has no other choice. The Mezzatesta family is into him for boo-koo bucks and if he doesn’t pay off, he’s history.The only other option de Venise has is to stage a big-money heist planned by his crooked lawyer friend Arnie, but he’s already turned down that particular deal. Arnie’s plan was too risky, and besides, de Venise knew Arnie long enough and well enough not to trust him. De Venise doesn’t trust anyone to torch the business either. Wanting it done right, he plans to do it himself, then set up an ironclad alibi. NOOK Press Presents : DAVID THE HA ALEXALDEH lol-coaster: The King of West Brooklyn “Where were you born?”“Brooklyn.”“Any other defects?”–From a war movie.A Crime Thriller NovelBy David Alexander Dominick “Dee” de Venise’s textile warehouse has been in the family for generations, but he’ll have to torch it for the insurance money. De Venise has no other choice. The Mezzatesta family is into him for boo-koo bucks and if he doesn’t pay off, he’s history.The only other option de Venise has is to stage a big-money heist planned by his crooked lawyer friend Arnie, but he’s already turned down that particular deal. Arnie’s plan was too risky, and besides, de Venise knew Arnie long enough and well enough not to trust him. De Venise doesn’t trust anyone to torch the business either. Wanting it done right, he plans to do it himself, then set up an ironclad alibi. NOOK Press Presents

lol-coaster: The King of West Brooklyn “Where were you born?”“Brooklyn.”“Any other defects?”–From a war movie.A Crime Thriller Novel...

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I’m a therapist and keep this poster in my waiting room, apparently it’s saved a few lives: I DON'T LIKE THE PHRASE "A CRY FOR HELP" I JUST DON'T LIKE HOW IT SOUNDS, WHEN SOMEBODY SAYS TO ME, "IM THINKING ABOUT SUICIDE, I HAVE A PLAN: I JUST NEED A REASON NOT TO DO IT," THE LAST THING I SEE IS HELPLESSNESS I THINK: YOUR DEPRESSION HAS BEEN BEATING YOU UP FOR YEARS IT'S CALLED YOU UGLY, AND STUPID, AND PATHETIC, AND A FAILURE FOR SO LONG THAT YOU'VE FORGOTTEN THAT IT'S WRONG. YOU DON SEE ANY GOOD IN YOURSELF, AND YOU DON'T HAVE ANY HOPE aUT STILL, HERE YOu ARE: YOU'VE COME OVER TO ME, BANGED ON MY DOOR, AND SAID, "HEY! STAYING ALIVE IS REALLY HARD RIGHT NOW JUST GIVE ME SOMETHING TO FIGHT WITH! I DON'T CARE IF IT'S A STICK! GIVE ME A STICK AND I CAN STAY ALIVE! HOW IS THAT HELPLESS? I THINK THAT'S INCREDIBLE. YOU'RE LIKE A MARINE: TRAPPED FOR YEARS BEHIND ENEMY LINES, YOUR GUN HAS BEEN TAKEN AWAY, YOU'RE OUT OF AMMO, YOU'RE MALNOURISHED, AND YOU'VE PROBABLY CAUGHT SOME KIND OF JUNGLE VIRUS THAT'S MAKING YOU HALLUCINATE GIANT SPIDERS AND YOU'RE STILL JUST GOING, "GIVE ME A STICK. IM NOT DYING OUT HERE "A CRY FOR HELP MAKES IT SOUND LIKE IM SUPPOSED TO TAKE PITY ON YOu, BUT YOU DON'T NEED MY PITY THIS ISN'T PATHETIC. THIS IS THE WILL TO SURVIVE. THIS IS HOW HUMANS LIVED LONG ENOUGH TO BECOME THE DOMINANT SPECIES WITH NO HOPE, RUNNING ON NOTHING, YOU'RE READY TO CUT THROUGH A HUNDRED MILES OF HOSTILE JUNGLE WITH NOTHING BUT A STICK, IF THAT'S WHAT IT TAKES TO GET TO SAFETY ALL IM DOING IS HANDING OUT STICKS YOU'RE THE ONE STAYING ALIVE. I’m a therapist and keep this poster in my waiting room, apparently it’s saved a few lives

I’m a therapist and keep this poster in my waiting room, apparently it’s saved a few lives

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gingerinksmith: neoliberalismkills: mmelancholia: the best tea on the planet OKAY TEA LESSON TIME. I worked at Teavana for a long time and these teas are called blooming teas! They’re basically white teas, and they come in this little ball. That ball can be rebrewed up to five times. FIVE. TIMES. And that one ball will fill that whole teapot. The three flavors we had each had a different flower in the middle, and really don’t take long to brew, just long enough for that ball to bloom, 2-4 minutes or so for the whole teapot. As a white tea, it’s high in antioxidants, and it’s really good for your immune system. It’s extremely good for detoxing as well, so if you want to detox for health reasons, or if you happen to have a drug test you’re unprepared for, drink these teas. And it’s extremely good for clearing up your skin! After a month of drinking a cup of this a day, your skin will be extremely healthy. It’s light in flavor, so for those of you who don’t like stronger teas, this is perfect. Plus, it’s really cool to watch bloom. and now, for tea news. : gingerinksmith: neoliberalismkills: mmelancholia: the best tea on the planet OKAY TEA LESSON TIME. I worked at Teavana for a long time and these teas are called blooming teas! They’re basically white teas, and they come in this little ball. That ball can be rebrewed up to five times. FIVE. TIMES. And that one ball will fill that whole teapot. The three flavors we had each had a different flower in the middle, and really don’t take long to brew, just long enough for that ball to bloom, 2-4 minutes or so for the whole teapot. As a white tea, it’s high in antioxidants, and it’s really good for your immune system. It’s extremely good for detoxing as well, so if you want to detox for health reasons, or if you happen to have a drug test you’re unprepared for, drink these teas. And it’s extremely good for clearing up your skin! After a month of drinking a cup of this a day, your skin will be extremely healthy. It’s light in flavor, so for those of you who don’t like stronger teas, this is perfect. Plus, it’s really cool to watch bloom. and now, for tea news.
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ladiesandlemonade: homuratrash: carry-on-my-otp: THERE’S A SEQUEL vine #1: “They say if you look at something for long enough, you’ll start to love it. [shouting] WELL I’LL BE SHOVING MY COCK IN THE FUCKING BRAKE LIGHTS” vine #2: “Americans drive on that side of the road. But in England, on this side of the road, you sit here and [shouting] DO FUCKING NOTHING.” vine #3: “Do you wanna live in London? Do you wanna live life in the fast lane? [shouting] GOOD FUCKING LUCK FINDING IT AHH.” vine #4: “Here’s another joke. So this American guy walks into a bar. Then an Australian guy walks into the bar. Then a English guy–well, he can’t [shouting] FUCKING MAKE IT.” vine #5: “You can’t just blame the foreigners for traffic, you can’t even just blame motorists for traffic. Sometimes it’s [shouting] FUCKING SANTA CLAU–” Honestly this is me every S I N G L E day. : ladiesandlemonade: homuratrash: carry-on-my-otp: THERE’S A SEQUEL vine #1: “They say if you look at something for long enough, you’ll start to love it. [shouting] WELL I’LL BE SHOVING MY COCK IN THE FUCKING BRAKE LIGHTS” vine #2: “Americans drive on that side of the road. But in England, on this side of the road, you sit here and [shouting] DO FUCKING NOTHING.” vine #3: “Do you wanna live in London? Do you wanna live life in the fast lane? [shouting] GOOD FUCKING LUCK FINDING IT AHH.” vine #4: “Here’s another joke. So this American guy walks into a bar. Then an Australian guy walks into the bar. Then a English guy–well, he can’t [shouting] FUCKING MAKE IT.” vine #5: “You can’t just blame the foreigners for traffic, you can’t even just blame motorists for traffic. Sometimes it’s [shouting] FUCKING SANTA CLAU–” Honestly this is me every S I N G L E day.
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ladiesandlemonade: homuratrash: carry-on-my-otp: THERE’S A SEQUEL vine #1: “They say if you look at something for long enough, you’ll start to love it. [shouting] WELL I’LL BE SHOVING MY COCK IN THE FUCKING BRAKE LIGHTS” vine #2: “Americans drive on that side of the road. But in England, on this side of the road, you sit here and [shouting] DO FUCKING NOTHING.” vine #3: “Do you wanna live in London? Do you wanna live life in the fast lane? [shouting] GOOD FUCKING LUCK FINDING IT AHH.” vine #4: “Here’s another joke. So this American guy walks into a bar. Then an Australian guy walks into the bar. Then a English guy–well, he can’t [shouting] FUCKING MAKE IT.” vine #5: “You can’t just blame the foreigners for traffic, you can’t even just blame motorists for traffic. Sometimes it’s [shouting] FUCKING SANTA CLAU–” Honestly this is me every S I N G L E day. : ladiesandlemonade: homuratrash: carry-on-my-otp: THERE’S A SEQUEL vine #1: “They say if you look at something for long enough, you’ll start to love it. [shouting] WELL I’LL BE SHOVING MY COCK IN THE FUCKING BRAKE LIGHTS” vine #2: “Americans drive on that side of the road. But in England, on this side of the road, you sit here and [shouting] DO FUCKING NOTHING.” vine #3: “Do you wanna live in London? Do you wanna live life in the fast lane? [shouting] GOOD FUCKING LUCK FINDING IT AHH.” vine #4: “Here’s another joke. So this American guy walks into a bar. Then an Australian guy walks into the bar. Then a English guy–well, he can’t [shouting] FUCKING MAKE IT.” vine #5: “You can’t just blame the foreigners for traffic, you can’t even just blame motorists for traffic. Sometimes it’s [shouting] FUCKING SANTA CLAU–” Honestly this is me every S I N G L E day.
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