So I was thinking about Parseltongue, and the weird fact that it seems to be an inherited skill instead of, you know, learned like any other language.
Imagine a Slytherin who can speak Parseltongue. When it gets out, they expect everyone to be freaked out, and a lot of people are, but most of the Slytherins just want to know how it’s done. Soon, Slytherins start sneaking snakes into the common room and the parseltongue speaker talks to the snakes while people observe. They start picking up on certain sounds and their corresponding phrases. Within a month, they’re all hissing at each other across the table in the Great Hall (mostly saying hello over and over, back and forth, because that’s the easiest phrase to learn, but no one else needs to know that). The first time one of them accidentally speaks Parseltongue at someone from another house, the Ravenclaw in question backs away like they’ve been threatened, but then another Slytherin quietly informs them that the other Slytherin was only saying hello, that in fact that’s all most of them know how to say. The Ravenclaw is appalled that they haven’t pursued this opportunity further, and soon, they’re working with the Slytherins to develop a working lexicon. Hufflepuffs are happy to join in, seeing an opportunity for interhouse unity, and even the Gryffindors decide to get in on it eventually.
Parseltongue becomes the student language. Parseltongue brings the houses together as students whisper back and forth to each other during class, and then feign ignorance when asked about the mysterious hissing sounds (there must be a problem with the pipes, Professor!). Parseltongue helps transform Slytherin’s legacy into acceptance and unity instead of elitism.
My super-conservative devout Mormon parents (and society in general) have made a lot of progress toward acceptance since I first came out 11 years ago, and I’m genuinely grateful and impressed. But at the same time, I still feel a lot of hurt, and anger, and frustration at how far they (and society) still have to go. Sometimes it can be difficult to find balance between those extremes. It’s been mostly anger this week.
Gentrifiers focus on aesthetics, not people. Because people, to them, are aesthetics.
Proponents of gentrification will vouch for its benevolence by noting it “cleaned up the neighbourhood”. This is often code for a literal white-washing. The problems that existed in the neighbourhood - poverty, lack of opportunity, struggling populations denied city services - did not go away. They were simply priced out to a new location.
That new location is often an impoverished suburb, which lacks the glamour to make it the object of future renewal efforts. There is no history to attract preservationists because there is nothing in poor suburbs viewed as worth preserving, including the futures of the people forced to live in them. This is blight without beauty, ruin without romance: payday loan stores, dollar stores, unassuming homes and unpaid bills. In the suburbs, poverty looks banal and is overlooked.
In cities, gentrifiers have the political clout - and accompanying racial privilege - to reallocate resources and repair infrastructure. The neighbourhood is “cleaned up” through the removal of its residents. Gentrifiers can then bask in “urban life” - the storied history, the selective nostalgia, the carefully sprinkled grit - while avoiding responsibility to those they displaced.
Sebastian Stan vs People Calling Bucky Barnes a Villain/Bad Guy
the ol’ razzzle dazzle
No but actually this is a GREAT way to present a dress like this! A regular standing mannequin wouldn’t show off all the layers and details in the skirt!
my problem is my mamma raised me far too nice
to ever wish death on somebody, regardless of how much
they’d harmed me so instead i’m compiling a list
of odd karmatic punishments
for the assholes of my existence like
i hope the girl who ruined my senior year of high school
by bullying the hope out of my bones
has a bad hair day on every first date. i hope
the words she said behind my back tangle around
her head so when people meet her for the first time
they can see how unkind
she really is.
my mother and my father were talking in public
and a policeman asked her if she wanted the
‘dirty hispanic’ to leave her alone
and i really hope that policeman goes home
to heat that never works properly and that
the cold makes his bones ache, i hope the
warmth of my daddy’s sun never kisses
the sweaty temples of men who use their
position of power as an excuse to be racist
the man who hit me until i bled from the
corners of my mouth and who kissed me no matter
how much i asked him to stop better constantly get
his dick stuck in his zipper and i hope a large rash
develops because of it because maybe being
in constant pain will make him learn
i want the teacher who told my friend joe
‘you can’t be a boy just because you say so’
to spill overheated 99-cent coffee on her ironed skirt
every other thursday, i hope it stains because
her words never washed out of his ears either
i hope the boy who broke my heart is
doing well, because i’m doing well too, but i want
the boy who broke my sister by promising forever
when he really meant ‘just until you give me everything’
to get a tattoo with a misspelling
just because i think it would be funny
since he was so afraid of commitment
the man who told my friend to kill herself, to just get it over
should wake up to a leak in his roof
that has no particular origin and constantly drips
onto his face no matter where he moves his pillow to
because maybe then he’ll have some idea about
i hope the people who told my brother
he couldn’t succeed
solely based on his disability
constantly hit their heads when getting into the car,
i want them to blink back little black dots
and wonder what they’ve ever done wrong to deserve
this and then i want them to see my brother’s company
on a full-page spread because he’s twenty-four and
making more money than they ever did
my math teacher told me most girls are stupid
with numbers and i hope his wife is funneling large
sums of his money into an offshore account without
him noticing while my english teacher told me
he didn’t expect much because i’m not a native speaker
so i really hope in class one day
he unknowingly passes out one of my poems
and i hope if you’ve been hurt, your life has
turned around. keep your head up,
square your shoulders, trust that
the universe will find some way to sort things out. hold on
until your heart mends. regardless of what happens,
know that happiness
is the best revenge.