What if Voldemort’s not evil?
What if J.K Rowling is?
What if J.K Rowling is the ultimate evil entity in the wizarding world, ousted by the people’s leader: Voldemort – the kindest, most gracious, genuine and most importantly – most powerful wizard ever known. What if SHE was the darkness lurking in the shadows using fear to control the actions of good wizards everywhere until someone, somewhere had the courage to stand up to her – Voldemort.
And no matter how many times she thought she’d defeated him he kept coming back to fight her again because after committing a truly selfless act (like say sacrificing his own life to protect someone from J.K) he was awarded a horcrux – an item so revered no wizard had ever displayed the selflessness of character to receive it. And each time he gave his own life to protect the wizarding world he was awarded another until he had 7 – at which point J.K found out about the Horcruxes.
Realizing that his power is only going to grow if she continues to go after him the way she had been she retreats to the muggle world and writes Harry Potter, exposing ALL the secrets of the wizarding world, bad mouthing the very best wizards ever known and teaching us that a horcrux is a sign of verified evil – NOT good, all while she slowly builds a muggle army – spending DECADES indoctrinating us to the ideas of who is good and who is evil within the wizarding world until one day she casts a spell that drops the hypothetical wall between our worlds unleashing the bloodiest most aggressive assault the wizarding world has ever seen? Millions of muggles across the globe begin a hunt to destroy any remaining horcruxes – the very thing keeping us alive and safe from J.K.
Prince of Egypt Parallels: “A greater Egypt than that of my Father”
#i love absolutely everything about these shots#i love how rameses has created a bigger statue than his father before him#i love how the first has some trees and water#and the second has buildings concealing even the far off mountains in the distance#i love how everyones in profile in the first shot#whereas the 2nd shows rameses and moses looking out into the world to see what has become of it#i love how pharaoh has his wife and advisors#the Egyptian royal expectations behind him#i love how theyre not in the second shot#but you can vividly imagine them staring down rameses all the same#i love how the second shot uses much more yellow#signifying gold or anger or perhaps both within Rameses#the rewards for his accomplishments#i love how the camera has zoomed back to make the main characters even MORE dwarfed in comparison to all of this#i love how pharaohs statues eyeline is level with the pyramids/tombs in the far distance#i love how rameses statue is above this#and therefore how rameses sees himself as above even death#I FUCKING LOVE THIS FILM (via @morepopcornplease)
tony stark’s guilt for the events of ultron and sokovia was his driving force to push for the sokovia accords, not because he is a bad person
tony stark’s best friend was paralysed, causing him to act out. his best friend who knew him before he was iron man, who stuck by him regardless of his behaviour. tony stark’s best friend, james rhodes, was paralysed, which further intensified the anger growing within him – even though it wasn’t team cap’s fault. it was his.
tony stark ordered vision to take out sam, which missed, and hit rhodey. tony feels more guilt now, knowing he indirectly caused his best friend’s paralysis.
tony stark went through his whole life thinking his parents were killed in an accident, and then he finds out that no, they weren’t, someone killed them. someone who he was willing to work on trust with – he promised not to shoot bucky.
when he found out bucky was the reason his parents were taken away from him at a young age, his world was flipped. everything he had believed for twenty odd years was flipped. he was fucking
(brief intermission while i breathe)
the version of events he knew was completely shifted. this disruption caused further doubt into what he had believed in – e.g., being able to forgive bucky and steve and team cap for all the fighting that had happened between them.
tony’s world was thrown out of order. he couldn’t think logically to know that hydra brainwashed bucky. everything he knew was thrown into question. he forgot that bucky was tortured and used as hydra’s tool with no say in it himself. he acted out, because he was already torn up and broken inside. he couldn’t act in anymore because he couldn’t. he had destroyed himself inside.
i repeat again. tony stark is not a bad person. tony stark is not a villain.
in reply to this anon because fuck you
How about we talk about what might have happened if Narnia hadn’t deserted Susan?
What if, instead of sending a stag to lead them astray, the Pevensies had been given time to end their first rule– to have finished their reports, their negotiations and treaties, that letter in the bureau Lucy was half-done penning to Mrs. Beaver to thank her for the fruitcake and to ask about her grandchildren.
They had lived there more than a decade then, grown from children to kings and queens, to brave young adults with responsibility heavy on their shoulders. They had lived through storms and wars, peace and joy, lost friends to battle and old age and distance. They had made a home. What if they had been given time to say good-bye?
What if we didn’t tell Susan she had to go grow up in her own world and then shame and punish her for doing just that? She was told to walk away and she went. She did not try to stay a child all her life, wishing for something she had been told she couldn’t have again.
There is nothing wrong with Lucy loving Narnia all her life, refusing an adulthood she didn’t want for a braver, brighter one she built herself. But there is also nothing wrong with Susan trying to find something new to fall in love with, something that might love her back.
You can build things in lipsticks and nylons, if you don’t mind getting a few runs in them. There is nothing wrong with wanting to be pretty, especially when pretty is the only power left to you.
Let’s talk about being the last one left. No, really, think about it. You get a call in the middle of the night, in the little flat you can just barely afford, and you are told there has been an accident.
Think about it, that moment– you scramble over everyone you know, everyone you love, and try to figure out where they all are that night. There are things rushing in your gut, your fingertips, your lungs, your ears– there are words in your ears as the tinny, sympathetic voice starts to tell you: it is everyone.
They were on a train. Something went wrong. They probably died instantly. A rushing sound. A bright light. (You try to imagine it, for years. You try not to think about it. You imagine it, for years–a rushing sound, a bright light.)
Your little sister, who you always felt the most responsible for, who you never understood, really– Your big brother, who disapproved of your choices but loved you with a steadiness you could never regret leaning into– Your little brother, a smug and arrogant ass except for the days when he drowned in self doubt– Ed was going to go far and you knew it, were waiting for it, were shoring up your defenses and your eye rolls for the days when he’d think he ruled the world–
Your mother is gone. Your father, with his stuffy cigar smell and big hands and the way he got distracted telling stories– he is gone. Your cousin Eustace, who suddenly lost that stick in his ass one summer. That friend of his, Jill, who you’d never actually quite met. Gone. A rushing sound. A bright light.
Go on. Walk through this with me. You can’t sleep all night long, because you still can’t understand it, still can’t quite breathe in a world where you are the last Pevensie. You finally fade sometime between midnight and dawn and when you wake up you don’t remember for half a second. You think ugh and you think sunshine why and then you remember that you are an orphan, an only child. You remember there probably isn’t anyone else to handle the funeral arrangements.
Get up. Make tea. Forget to eat breakfast and feel nauseous and empty all day. Call the people who need to be called. Your work, to ask for the time off. The mortuary, to ask about closed caskets. Distant relations. Friends. Edmund’s girlfriend and Peter’s boss. You listen to Lucy’s friends weep hysterics into the phone while you stare out the kitchen window and drink your fourth cup of tea. You call Professor Diggory, out at the old house with the wardrobe that started it all, and it rings and rings. You don’t find out for three days that he died in the train crash too. When you do, you stare at the newspaper article. You think of course.
You are twenty one years old. You have ruled a kingdom, fought and won and prevented wars, survived exile and school and your first day as a working woman. Nothing has ever felt worse than this. You have a necklace in your dresser you meant to give your mother, because she loves rubies and this glass is painted a nice ruby red and it is all you can afford on your tiny wages.
Excuse me, a correction: she loved rubies. She is dead. You never wear the necklace. You cry yourself to sleep for weeks. The first night you don’t cry, the first morning you wake up rested, you feel guilty. You wonder if that will live in the pit of your stomach all your life and you don’t know. The years reach out in front of you, miles and eons of loss. You are on the very shore of this grief and you do not know how you will survive feeling like this for the rest of your life. But you will survive it.
Get up. Make tea. Make yourself eat breakfast. Make plans with a school friend to do lunch. Go to work and try to bury yourself in the busyness of it. Remember that you’d promised to lend Peter a hand with some task or other, but you don’t even remember what it was– Collapse. Hide in the bathroom until you’re breathing again. Redo your makeup and leave work the moment your shift is over. Drop your nylons and your sweater and your heels in the apartment hallway. Fall into bed and pull the covers over your head.
Get up. Make tea. Eat. Don’t think about them for weeks. Don’t feel guilty when you remember. Feel proud. Spend an indulgent weekend in your pajamas, reading Lucy’s favorite novel and making Ed’s favorite cookies and remembering the way your mother smelled and how it always made you feel safe. Love them and miss them and mourn them. Keep breathing. Cry, but wash your face after in cool water. Wake in the morning to birdsong and spend three hours making breakfast just the way you like it.
Imagine the next birthday, the next Christmas, the next time you hit one of those days that herald the passage of time, that tell you how much you’ve grown and how much they haven’t.
Lucy, Peter, and Edmund will be at the same height for the rest of your life. Lucy will always be seventeen for the second time. You see, you think you know, when you lose them, what the dagger in you feels like. But it grows with you, that ache. You grow with it, too, learn how to live with that at your side but it grows, that ache, finds new ways to twist–
At the first friend’s wedding you go to, you cry because it’s lovely, those two smiling and promising and holding hands– but you also cry because you wonder what Lucy would have looked like in white, joyous and smiling and promising the rest of her life to a boy who deserved her.
Go on. You tell me if Susan deserted a world or if a whole life deserted her. You tell me who was left behind.
So yes, let’s talk about it– what if Narnia hadn’t deserted Susan? What if lipstick and nylons were things worn and not markers of worth?
What if we had a story that told little girls they could grow up to be anything they wanted– all of Lucy’s glory and light, Susan’s pretty face and parties, the way Jill could move so quiet and quick through the trees?
Because you know, some of those little girls? They were the little mothers, too old for their age, who worried and wondered, who couldn’t believe like Lucy or charge like Jill. Susan was reasonable, was hesitant and beautiful and gentle, was pretty and silly and growing up, and for it she was lost. She was left. And when Susan was left, so were they.
The little girls who worried louder than they loved, who were nervous about climbing trees and who would never run after the mirage of a lion, who looked at the pretty women in the grocery store and wondered if they would grow up pretty too– some of them looked at their little clever doubting hands, after they read Peter and Eustace and Jill scoffing at Susan’s vanities, and they wondered what they were worth.
Imagine a Narnia that believed in all of them. Imagine a Narnia that believed in adult women, lipsticked or not. Imagine Susan teaching Jill how to string a bow, arms straining. Imagine her brushing blush on Lucy’s cheeks, the first time Lu went out walking with a boy she was considering falling in love with. Imagine that when the last door to Narnia was shut, there was not a sister left behind.
Remember that time soldiers crossdressed for justice in a Disney movie and nobody gave a shit? Yeah. Look at that sass. Soldier sass.
CROSSDRESSED FOR JUSTICE
Crossdressing never looked so badass and patriotic.
CROSSDRESSING FOR GREAT JUSTICE
I don’t think people realize just how revolutionary Mulan was. This was made in 1998, and sure, queer rights had gone forward, but there was still a lot of work to be done. Gay marriage was illegal in most states in America, and transexualism and crossdressing was barely even discussed. And what does motherfucking Disney do? THEY DRESS UP THESE BUTCH, ALL-MAN SOLDIERS AS WOMEN RIGHT WHEN THEY’RE ABOUT TO GO KICK ASS. AND THEY DO IT WHILE PLAYING A SONG ABOUT BEING A MAN.
Seriously, the choice of song makes it even cooler. They’re playing “I’ll Make a Man Out of You” while we watch crossdressing soldiers. Meaning that this doesn’t make them any less of men. They’re still men, and still cool as hell. And this while Mulan has also shown througout the movie that women are also fucking badass, and hell, she beats the Big Boss Hun with a fucking fan.
This movie came along to show that gender identity was not only totally up to you, not only that stereotypes suck, but also that gender identity does not determine awesomeness.
Chinese opera and kabuki are filled with crossdressers , as traditionally only men could work in those areas.
Dumbledore is literally the scum between my toes
- LEAVES A 1YO CHILD ON A DOORSTEP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT LIKE ‘OH NVM THEYLL FIND HIM IN THE MORNING LOL’
- knows good and well how the dursleys are abusing and neglecting harry and just LETS THE SITUATION CONTINUE even though we see in the fifth book that he has the power to stop it (the ‘remember my last letter’). he lets harry be LOCKED UP IN A CUPBOARD and abused for ten years both because of the ””protection”’ privet dr has for harry (don’t worry, it’s only at the cost of his emotional and mental wellbeing, it’s all good) and because he WANTS harry to fall in love with the wizarding world, like voldemort did, like snape did, because it will make him easier to manipulate
- GROOMS HARRY TO BECOME A PERSON WHO WILL WILLINGLY DIE FOR ””’THE GREATER GOOD””
- PURPOSEFULLY WITHOLDS INFORMATION FROM HARRY AND KEEPS HIM UNINFORMED SO HE’LL DO WHAT DUMBLEDORE WANTS WHEN DUMBLEDORE WANTS HIM TO DO IT
- tells harry in ootp that he kept the truth from him because HE ACCIDENTALLY ENDED UP CARING ABOUT HARRY. LIKE OH HERE’S THE KID I’VE BEEN PLANNING TO KILL AND HAVE LET LIVE A MISERABLE LOVELESS LIFE IN ORDER TO RIGHT THE WRONG OF THE OTHER BOY I FEEL LIKE I LET DOWN AND I ACCIDENTALLY REALISED HE’S A HUMAN BEING WELL FUCK
- told arabella figg she couldn’t be nice to harry when he went to her house? like what the FUCK?
- after all his lectures and ”’wisdom”’ STILL GOES AFTER THE HALLOWS HIMSELF BECAUSE HE WANTS THE POWER
- literally told harry the only reason he didn’t make him a prefect was because he didn’t want people to think he ””plays favourites”” like he didn’t last minute give gryffindor the house cup like four fuckin years in a row because of harry
- KNEW HE WAS GOING TO DIE AND DIDN’T TELL/PREPARE HARRY FOR THE EMOTIONAL DEVASTATION OF LOSING ANOTHER/HIS LAST FATHER FIGURE AND EVEN MADE HARRY WATCH HIM DIE
- locked sirius up AFTER HE HAD SPENT TWELVE YEARS IN PRISON in the house where he was ABUSED AS A CHILD AND MADE TO FEEL OUTCAST AND UNLOVED and pretty much exacerbated sirius’ arrested development and feeling of worthlessness because he’s dumbledore and dumbledore knows best
- LET SNAPE TEACH AT HOGWARTS FOR 15+ YEARS DESPITE KNOWING FULL WELL HOW HE TREATED STUDENTS JUST BECAUSE HE WANTED TO KEEP HIM CLOSE
- HE IS IN A POSITION OF POWER – ARGUABLY THE POSITION OF POWER – AND USES IT TO MANIPULATE AND EMOTIONALLY TRAUMATISE HARRY AND BATTER HIM INTO A WEAPON TO USE AGAINST VOLDEMORT AT THE COST OF HARRY’S FUCKING CHILDHOOD
and this is NEVER ADDRESSED in the books. Dumbledore is never seen as anything but a wise and noble father figure to Harry. HARRY NAMES HIS SON AFTER THIS MAN WHO MANIPULATED HIM AND LITERALLY WALKED HIM INTO THE SLAUGHTERHOUSE. FUCK dumbledore.
someone asked me for a post highlighting Dumbledore’s shittiness so here, have Miccaeli’s incredibly succinct and unambiguous TAKEDOWN