Tumgik
#congratulations mom you raised a fucking parrot
svtskneecaps · 5 years
Text
.
1 note · View note
parcai · 4 years
Note
why do so many people come to minors to harass you about racism? what are they expecting. there's SO MANY PEOPLE speaking out about it online. they don't need children. so many celebrities were speaking out on instagram and twitter, like billie eilish, and john oliver, emma watson, etc. people are so tone deaf
the irony in this ask is sending me. “tone deaf i’m-
so here’s the thing: 1. all three of those people you listed are white, and 2. even if they weren’t white, they’re horrible excuses for activists.
you can enjoy their content and do whatever you want—i’m not your mom, and i’m not going to tell you what to do—but this ask is just rubbing me the wrong way.
1. they’re white. why on earth would you ever direct issues on racism to white “influencers?” not only are you perpetuating the misinformation those whites are inevitably going to spread, but you’re also perpetuating the silence of actual poc. in raising up white voices in the crises of poc, you are actively taking attention away from people who deserve to speak about their own issues. that suggestion is, frankly speaking, abhorrent.
2. they’re horrible activists, not just because they’re white, but because they’re them. and all people like you do is listen to these three or four white celebrities, feel complacent, and think you’re doing so much for poc. if you really cared, where are you black and brown idols? why are you st*nning white tweets about BLM but ignoring poc speaking about their own fucking problems?
→ emma watson posted nearly nothing more than black squares, which is useless, and she couldn’t even do that right. she put white borders around all the black squares so that they’d match all the other pictures on her instagram. BLM is not a fucking aesthetic for her social media. and choosing white too, of all colors. repulsive. and then, on top of everything, she didn’t even post any information about BLM in the wake of George Floyd’s death until blackout tuesday had ended in the UK. the whole point of blackout tuesday was not to post stupid fucking squares that week, but to not post unless you were spreading information about BLM.
→ billie eilish took five million years to respond to BLM for someone who supposedly cares so much, and then her post was childish at best. though i agree with “all lives matter” being the stupidest fucking agenda to exist, she was praised so highly for posting once about racism. articles were written all over about her. everyone congratulated her on her maturity and radicalism. do you see the problem with this? i love how media just praises white people for doing the bare fucking minimum, and then turns and tell poc they’re being whiny or being “no fun” for bringing up racism.
→ john oliver thinks he’s all that for saying like two things about racism with his last week tonight with john oliver for BLM segment. he always presents all his topics (death penalty, civil asset forfeiture, and fifa, etc.) like they’re being ignored worldwide, like he’s the first person to ever talk about it at all, and you should be more like him. he’s an egotistic bastard, and as a white cishet man, you should never, never, never, be speaking about race, gender, sexuality, etc. like you’ve gone through the trauma too. not to mention, when he does his segments, he’s literally pulling information from other media coverage to support his argument!! he is practically admitting he’s just parroting other information, and he STILL sells it as his own.
overall, this ask is ignorant and in poor taste. you sound just like john oliver, actually, parroting something you heard somewhere else, and then feeling like you’ve greatly contributed and done your good deed for every poc.
go research activists of color, and learn to think for yourself.
15 notes · View notes
rubisaurus98 · 5 years
Text
Brave Frontier 2  Story Quest Aftermath (fanfic)
"So that's what all this is about." Ren said, looking at the newcomers from Ohbanahara.
“Yeah. I haven’t told anyone about this yet, not even Grahdens, so keep your fucking mouth shut until then, got it?” Lugina replied. Ren put her hands up in defense.
“Won’t hear anything from me.” She turned to the two. “Anyway, like Lugina said, the name’s Renata Crux, “Ren” for short. I run this Pioneering Division alongside him.”
“The one that fought the Divine Phoenix last year?!” Hans asked excitedly.
“Yeah, that was me. Mostly.” Ren replied with a laugh.
Yurika bowed. “Thank you so much for your help during that time.” She pushed down on Hans to get him to bow, too. “The land was in such chaos then.”
“I was just a woman who wanted to save her home.” Ren stated. “Leaving the Sealed Gods like the Divine Phoenix in the state they were in at the time would’ve spelled disaster in the long run, not just in Ohbanahara and Elgaia, but for many other worlds. If you like, I could reinforce the seal on that scroll. I know a bit of sealing magic myself.”
“Thank you, but I believe the scroll will be just fine as it is. The only people who could possibly know how to use it are all in Ohbanahara, and while travel between worlds is heard of, it hasn’t been achieved yet there.” Yurika said.
“Okay, then.” Ren checked her watch. “Well, I’d love to talk some more, but I’ve got to get to a meeting soon. So, maybe some other time, then?”
“I would like that.”
Lugina spoke up as Ren turned to leave. “Hey wait a second! A meeting with who?”
Ren stopped dead in her tracks, not making eye contact with him so as to not reveal her blush. “With...uh...with my...fiancé.”
“What the hell? When the fuck did you two...?” Lugina shouted.
“Great, now the whole-ass division knows...” Ren grumbled under her breath.
“Oh, you’re getting married? Congratulations!” Yurika said.
“Yeah, congratulations!” Hans parroted.
‘T-Thanks. There’s a bit of a story behind it that I’ll tell later. But, anyway...” Ren looked at them and raised an eyebrow before turning to Lugina. “Say, Lugina, you’ve done so much for these two already. How’s about you show them around the place, huh? I’ll see you guys later!” She spun on her heel and ran out of the room before Lugina could catch her.
“Hey, wait!” He yelled after her. “Dammit, that little shit...” He looked at Yurika, blushing slightly. “Fine then. I...guess I’ll show you around the place. Follow me.”
“Alright.” Yurika said, turning just as pink.
Hans looked between his sister and his new Lord, and facepalmed.
“Wow, I never knew you had that kind of family history.” Alric said from his side of the com network, stuffing his face with fries.
“Yeah, I didn’t either!” Sasha replied. “I guess that’s one more person with a special bloodline in our group.”
“Oh, yeah! Doesn’t Jonas have something like that, too?” Marena brought up, from her end. “There’s that heirloom spear his brother uses. Only people in their family are able to use its true power.”
“I can’t wait to see the look on his and Rin’s faces when I tell them!” Sasha said. “Hey, so, I also asked my mom how she and my dad wound up getting married, but she won’t tell me. Well, she said not now, but still. Do you think your mom might know something if I asked her?”
Alric wiped his mouth. “Doubt it. They’ve probably got some secret ‘Mom Alliance’ that doesn’t let them spill secrets like that very easily.” Marena nodded in agreement.
“But then again,” Marena added on, “we know our parents’ love story, so I think that’s more on her.”
Sasha sighed. “I’ll wait, then. Hey, Alric, where are you and Roy now?”
“Huh? You know that new restaurant that opened up a week and a half ago like two blocks west of Akras? Their fries here are so--”
“Save it for when I’m there.” Sasha cut him off, putting a hand up.
Marena shook her head at her brother. “You are going to have such bad stomach cramps...”
“I accept my fate.” He casually replied.
5 notes · View notes
aerialflight · 7 years
Text
Actions Speak Louder than Words (Chapter 3)
Hermione Granger has the bushiness of a raccoon’s tail for hair and an air of ‘I’m-judging-you’ surrounding her. It felt like facing Molly Weasley when she’s in the right, except in a perpetual state.
It was intimidating as hell for an eleven year old girl and Ron Weasley already knew this was going to be a challenge.
The whole school already knew the Slytherin duo’s agenda by now – bringing the second reckoning of the prankalypse since the Marauders and Snape, who currently is drinking his way to sweet oblivion, fuck Dumbledore and his ‘plans’ – and all the students practically sprinted themselves out of the library to get away from the crossfire.
Which is a mistake and someone should’ve stalled the Weasley in his tracks and made sure to never let these two particular first years meet, but oh well. They’ll know soon enough.
So Ron sat down on the chair across from Hermione, the setting innocuous and peaceful. Hermione’s brown eyes flickered upwards and went back to her alarmingly giant sized book and snappishly flipped a page. Her shoulders hunched inward, as if bracing herself for an attack.
“Is there something you need?”
Ron heard the impatience in her tone and laid down his cards without hesitation.
“Harry and I need your help in beating Fred and George.”
Instantly, she looked suspicious and interested all at once. A raven, eyes caught by the shiny object Ron was offering her. The audible slam of her book closing shook the table, nearly spilling the inkwell.
“Why?” she narrowed her eyes, sharp as an owl. “You don’t seem to need help.”
“We do.” Ron countered, unashamed. Pride has no place on the battlefield. “Fred and George are a year older than us and they know every inch of Hogwarts. They have the advantage, and are going to keep having the advantage if it drags on.”
She raised a surprisingly thin eyebrow, the expression eerily similar to a certain transfiguration professor. “I’m just hearing reasons why you’re going to lose. Why do you need me?”
“Cause you’re smartest person in the school and you’re not in Ravenclaw.”
Surprise and curiosity has her asking. “Why does it matter if I’m not in Ravenclaw?”
Ron grinned, looking delighted that she’s asking all the right questions.
“If you’re the smartest person in the room and your bravery is even more recognized that that, it can only mean you’re bloody amazing.”
Hermione, for the first time since coming to Hogwarts and realizing that she’s as alone as ever in such a magical place, giggled. It rang in the empty library and was high pitched from childish youth that was rare coming from the mini-adult.
Later, after Ron stumbles out with all the grace of someone who has just escaped being windswept by a hurricane, he plopped himself in a chair next to Harry and tried to breathe.
“I think I’m in love.” Ron said dazedly, struck by lightning.
“Can’t wait for the wedding.” Harry responded idly, going through his transfiguration homework like a madman.
Years later, nobody was even fazed by Ron’s declaration of marrying one Hermione Granger-Weasley. Only the fact that it took so long and that they hadn’t been married from the moment they met at all.
How can they, when the sixth time they played chess together in the Gryffindor Common Room (nobody dared to kick Ron out) a few weeks after they met, Ron reverently asked, “Marry me?” after she finally toppled his king?
“Maybe.” She responded politely. “Mom always says I should keep my options open.”
The fact Mrs. Granger was referring to her school subjects and career, not her love life, was probably the case. But Hermione was precocious as they come. And Ron Weasley wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Okay then.” He agreed, another business transaction occurring without either realizing it. It’s how they work. “I’ll ask once every year then until you give me a straight up yes/no answer.”
“Sounds fair.”
(It took until their early twenties and a war to have her break the agreement and outright tell him she wanted to get married. Ron didn’t really mind much.
Harry was both their best man and bridesmaid. It made for an interesting set of clashing green and red robes for him to wear, though he wore the heels on a dare.)
When the Golden Trio, as they were now being called these days, snatched up unassuming Neville Longbottom, people had the sense to be wary except for idiots like Draco Malfoy who mocked their chosen person.
They didn’t realize as Harry did that Neville had the toughest skin you’ll ever find in the Gryffindor house. Anyone else would’ve collapsed under the personality of Augusta Longbottom who even Black family members were cautious of when she’s in a flurry. Temperamental, snappish, and always judging Neville with close scrutiny that it was suffocating.
Put Neville in a quiet, tense environment and he’s a nervous wreck. The Dungeons were cold and entirely too silent, not a word spoken under the sharp eyes of Severus Snape. Neville is prepared to work under constant nagging and deprecating words shouting in his ear. Snape’s smooth, cutting remarks were a complete contrast to Augusta’s loud fury that it threw Neville off more than enough times.
But when everything is loud and rowdy, chaos surrounding him on all sides, Neville was a diving duck in water.
His awareness narrowed down, ignoring all sounds and mocking insults once he gets absorbed in the things he’s good at or focused on. The greenhouse was full of screaming, demanding plants that required constant diligence. The greenery were visibly colorful in both behavior and looks. Nobody seemed to understand that it was a minefield, not a set of instructions put on a board but bartering trades with sentient creatures. A give or take relationship Neville instinctively had a knack for with unpredictable, magical plants. He was a master at working under pressure with a hundred living things demanding for his help and attention.
He’s not good with words. His hands, on the other hand, speak another language entirely with coaxing actions befitting for negotiators and caretakers.
And Harry, who’s been gardening since he was six with dull flowers who can’t talk back, noticed it all.
So one day, he separated himself from Hermione and Ron arguing at the other side of the Gryffindor table and slithered in the seat facing Neville. The round faced boy paled at the sight of him, Harry’s reputation proceeding him.
“You’re Neville Longbottom, right? The one who’s really good at Herbology?” Harry started earnestly, green eyes shining.
Neville looked completely taken aback by the compliment and blushed furiously.
“Um, yes?” he squeaked uncertainly, glancing behind him as if it was possible the raven haired boy was addressing someone else.
Harry grinned cheerfully. It was terrifying.
“Excellent.” He rubbed his hands gleefully like an evil mastermind. Which wasn’t true. That’s Hermione’s job. “Because I wanted to ask you for help.”
“Help?” Neville repeated, sounding more like an actual plea for escape than imitating a talking parrot.
“Yeah, do you want to be our dealer? Since Professor Sprout likes you so much.”
Neville choked.
Of course, what Harry Potter meant was for Neville to provide dangerous plants and maybe even ask for some assistance in experimenting on them for any short-term affects that could be slipped into the twins’ drinks or food. But out of context, the eleven year old was completely unaware how it sounded in very different contexts.
Neville, however, surprisingly did.
The conversation spiraled from there until it finally clicked what exactly Harry was offering, much to Neville’s staggering relief that he wasn’t getting involved in criminal activities. His Gram would kill him if he did.
But, well, this was for The-Boy-Who-Lived. The Savior of the Wizarding World. And she said to make friends, so she would understand.
Right? Right.
So against his better judgement, Neville Longbottom became part of the group in not so legal ways.
“Professor Snape?”
Severus absolutely refused to admit how close he was to jumping three feet in the air by the haunting nightmare that was Harry Potter. Denial was a long, long river.
“Mr. Potter.” He said curtly, betraying nothing when everything in him wanted to hide beyond a desk and hiss, ‘What do you want from me? Leave me to die alone and away from your insanity!’
But he was a professional professor. And so he stayed where he was and tried not to stare at familiar green eyes that were gleaming all too familiarly for comfort.
“What’s being used to guard the third floor?” was Harry Potter’s upfront, absurd question that broke the stereotype that Slytherins didn’t know what blunt was until it hit them. Politics ruin people.
Clearly they’ve never met The-Boy-Who-Lived.
His mouth went on autopilot because sarcasm was an addictive habit that won him the title of being an asshole/favorite character (for some reason).
“Are your ears just decorations Mr. Potter? Or were you too busy congratulating yourself and Mr. Weasley for grabbing the ranks of the Slytherin House in the sole purpose to ruin other people’s reputations and time?”
And sanity he wanted to add, but didn’t. It would feel too much like admitting defeat.
Potter frowned, cocking his head to the side as if trying to impersonate a rather curious bird. Just looking at him gave Severus a crick in the neck.
“No, it’s not that.” The boy began, blatantly disregarding his words and striding in without any censorship. “I figured since you hate me and want me to get in trouble, you’d tell me.”
Severus stared at the boy’s backflipping sense of logic and tried to find where he came up with such an abysmal train of thought. And then he took in the expectant, completely oblivious look on Potter’s face that mimicked Lily’s whenever she had asked uncomfortable questions to older students into attempting to explain how such prejudice and close-mindedness is allowed in the Wizarding World.
The Slytherin Head of House wistfully recalled how gleeful he had always been from her pointed questions that left people stuttering and ashamed, and felt like this was karma kicking him back in the arse.
“It doesn’t matter if I don’t like you Mr. Potter.” He gritted out, shoving the redheaded girl in a box and burying it with a mental shovel. “You’re a student, I’m a professor.”
James’s son dared to shoot him a bemused look.
“Yeah, exactly.” He said slowly, as if he has the thought capacity of a slug. “Which is why I asked you since you know.”
Severus wanted to futilely argue against that inane point, but screeched to a stop when something finally occurred to him.
“Why do you want to know in the first place?” he demanded suspiciously.
Potter lit up. A spike of agonizing pain shot through the Potion Professor’s skull.
“Because if it’s dangerous, we can have point of references to use in beating other people at their own game.” Potter was just barely not implicitly stating the blasted Weasley pair’s names. Severus wanted to thunk his head against the walls until he had a concussion even Pomfrey couldn’t fix immediately. “And other than Fluffy, we don’t know what the other protections are-”
“How do you know that?”
Potter blinked, confused. Severus resisted the urge to shake him.
“Well, it was sort of implied we’ve already tried going in there,” which Severus probably would’ve noticed if he had been paying more attention instead of covering up his wariness with bullshit fronts. “Hagrid told us that Fluffy was his and there was a trap door he was sitting on. So, it’s kind of obvious once Hermione pointed it out. If Hagrid left his own kind of protection, then that means there must be other tests and stuff guarding whatever it is it’s guarding.”
“Why were you on the third floor?” he struggled out, half-impressed and half-bitter that some parts of Lily actually seemed to have transferred to her son from how he had been able to work it all out.
“For fun. And we were really bored.” His tone heavily implied the feeling ‘Duh’ rather accurately.
Severus narrowed his beady eyes at the Potter.
“So the only reason why you’re asking this is for academic reasons and to win your petty little war against the school menaces? You have no interest in what the school’s guarding?” he enunciated slowly, incredulous.
Potter shrugged.
“Not really.” His voice was drier than Severus’s nearly-empty glass attitude. “I’m kind of too busy trying to win a war.”
Maybe the absurdity of it all was finally getting to him, because Severus Snape burst into hysterical laughter and couldn’t find it in himself to stop.
This is a continuation to my little snippet here
Also, I posted this on AO3.
Okay, first, I am so happy that so many people loved this fic and am very flattered by it all. Seriously, thank you so much for the encouragement and comments, I love that this makes people laugh. Writing private headcanons that just keep extrapolating is my life now, haha. Anyways, I hope you enjoy, cause chaos I literally this fic’s agenda and I’m gleefully taking advantage of that.
39 notes · View notes