sherlockpoodles

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It's been a while since I've used tumblr. Have a selfie.

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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!”

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most adorable thing ever? [x]

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I want to see Greek gods in the modern era.

I want to see Zeus in a tailored suit and shaggy beard, a walking disparity of the loud, brash, post-graduate frat boy variety who can’t pass a woman on the street without catcalls, who has more one-night stands than he could possibly keep in his head, for whom adultery comes as naturally as the weather he predicts on the Channel 4 News—with startlingly accuracy, and an endless wealth of charisma.

I want to see Hera walking tall, six-inch heels and not a wrinkle in her skirt, knowing her boyfriend is cheating, and knowing with equal certainty that she is better, stronger, fiercer than he will ever be, a wedding planner with an eye of steel, spotting vulnerability, slicing it open, teaching every woman who crosses her path to value themselves over any mistake made in the name of men and love.

I want to see Poseidon in Olympic prime, a gym rat who skives off class to shatter backstroke records, who spends his summers lifeguarding at the city pool, who keeps an ever-expanding aquarium in his bedroom and coaxes all the pretty girls up to visit his fish, his charm as impressive as the earth-rending temper he generally uses to fuel his competitive nature.

I want to see Hades, big, hulking, quieter than his brothers would ever think to be, who dresses in neat dark clothes, and polishes his boots, and spends more time reading than fighting, who debates eventuality and ethics, who stoically reminds everyone how enormous, how terrifying, how inescapable a thing like silent inevitability can be.

I want to see Hermes in a beanie, with watercolor splashes of tattoo crawling up his arms and holes in his Chucks, a bike messenger with no helmet, no regard for the rules of the road, all cataclysmic laughter, lock-pick tricks passed along to every kid who thinks to ask, thumbing through his iPhone without a care in the world.

I want to see Athena with reading glasses pushed high on her head, six books in her bag and a switchblade in her back pocket, her clothing as neatly ordered as her mind is feverish, brilliance and temper clashing and blending, doing her best to look dignified—even when her brain chemistry rockets ahead of her well-intentioned plans.

I want to see Apollo splattered with acrylics, board shorts and Monster headphones and a beautiful classic car, busking on street corners, not because he has no choice, but because the sunlight catching on a sticker-patterned acoustic is summer incarnate, because music is blood, because the act of creation is the ultimate in sublime.

I want to see Artemis in ripped jeans and haphazard topknot, star of the soccer team, the track team, the archery team, who rides a motorcycle, and keeps a tribe of girls around her at all times, and does not care for men, for expectation, for anything but volunteer hours down at the local animal shelter and falling asleep under the stars.

I want to see Aphrodite in sundress and scarf, homemade jewelry and lavish amounts of bright red lipstick, who is excellent at public speaking, at theater auditions, at soothing bruised egos and sparking epic fights, who kisses as easily as she breathes and scrawls poetry onto bathroom stalls.

I want to see Ares all but living in the boxing ring, cutoff shirts and sweats, red-faced under a crew cut as he punches, punches, punches until the noise in his head dims, a warrior with no war, all crude jokes and blind fury, totally incapable of understanding what it is to sit, think, plan before running screaming into the fray.

I want to see Demeter with the best garden you’ve seen in your life, with a lawn care business she runs out of her garage, a teenage prodigy grown into a joint-custody single mother, who teaches her carefree daughter all she knows while scaring off the hopeful neighborhood boys with the pet python draped across her shoulders.

I want to see Dionysus with a joint in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other, baggy hoodies and three-week-old jeans, who brews his own beer in his basement and greets all visitors with a fresh pack of Oreos and half-stoned theories of the universe, of birth and death and partying mid-week, because why not, man?

I want to see Hephaestus with a workshop taking up the majority of his house, whose kitchen is overrun with blowtorches, whose bathrooms are home to all manner of hodge-podge invention, who walks with a cane and forgets his laundry for weeks at a time, and strings together the most beautiful steampunk costumes at any convention at the drop of a hat.

I want to see wood nymphs fighting against climate change, waving their signs and pushing for scientific progress. I want to see epic heroes sitting down to Magic: The Gathering tournaments, poker brawls, Call of Duty all-nighters with beer and snapbacks. I want to see Medusa working a women’s shelter, want to see Achilles training for deployment, want to see Prometheus serving endless community service stints for what he calls providing necessary welfare with stolen goods.

Give me modern mythology. I could play for hours in that sandbox.

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Yes, I know Netflix has said the trailer was fan made but, you know me, I don’t believe it. Then. Something interesting was commented (other than Netflix):

Hmm..interesting.

And one quickie wiki search on Eleonora and I find out it is a short story by Edgar Allan Poe (Like it said in the comments) and it has a sort of ‘happy ending’. 

So it really is making me think about how this trailer has a big chance of being real and Netflix is being sneaky (Much like in the book series). Plus, look at how many easter eggs are in that trailer. That amount of attention to detail is insane. From the close up of the Gramophone playing a record with the title of The Gothic Archives (a band that provided the theme music for the series when the audiobooks were originally released.) to the many other small nods for those who have read through the books. 

What was fascinating about the book series was that it taught the readers to question authority. Never trust what someone says instantly, just because they are an adult. To ask the right questions and seek the right answers. 

Granted this may just be me grasping at straws, but until we get someone standing up and saying ‘Hey I made this’. I will always question and wonder. And that is a beautiful thing.  

And, hey, this is great cause fanmade or not it still pumps us up for the series. :3

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Send this to a republican to end their life

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Has this been done or nah…

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Has this been done or nah…

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I hate minions

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Deep Sea Goosefish (Sladenia) are anglerfish from the deep sea who lack the furious, devilish facial expressions of the classic deep sea anglerfish.

They sit their podgy bodies on the sea floor, resting on four, thick fins adapted for walking.

They have the classic lure for attracting prey but it isn’t luminescent.

I’m sure things change when dinner comes along, but when they’re just sitting there they look like the sweetest little deep sea puppies!

…Images: NOAA

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I was reading this article that was complaining about people should be more focused on bringing characters that were originally conceived as POC to the screen than on recasting white characters as POC. 

Which I actually agree with.

But in the same article the writer complained (I’m paraphrasing) “If you cast a black guy as Tony Stark, no one will think of him as Tony Stark, they’ll always think of him as Black Tony Stark.”

I have to point out a big flaw in that logic:

Children.

Everyone in the older generation thinks of Obama as “the black president.” You know who doesn’t think of Obama as “the black president”? 10 year olds. Obama is the only president they can remember. He got elected when they were two.

There are children who listen to Fall Out Boys’ “Centuries” and don’t know they borrowed the opening riff from Suzanne Vega’s “Tom’s Diner.” As far as they’re concerned, that’s Fall Out Boy’s riff.

There are children who don’t remember that The Rock was Dwayne Johnson’s wrestling name.

My favorite version of  A Christmas Carol is The Muppet Christmas Carol. I don’t care how Bob Cratchit was written in the original story because as far as I’m concerned, the real Bob Cratchit is a bright green frog puppet that’s my canon you can’t stop me.

There are a dozen incarnations of every possible comic book character. And every vigilante superhero we read about today is based on the original vigilante superhero – The Scarlet Pimpernel. There is no real version, there is only your favorite version. Every version that isn’t your favorite is going to feel fake to you.

But it’s going to feel real to someone.

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Prince charming by ladyskorpia

“I found him. I found my soulmate. Behold my idiot as he spazzes into the sunset”

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My pastel crew (Adrian is missing tho) left to right: Horatio, Ashley, Senja, Leonie