#no one else understands a word of what they're saying

[sitp-recs]

i bet you've seen this one plenty of times before, but:

can you rec some drarry fics where jealousy is an important motif? it can be infidelity if they're an established couple, or just getting with someone else while the two of them are dancing around one another. would be great to see recs both where harry is jealous and where draco is jealous. i prefer a happy ending, but i'll be grateful either way.

since i'm here let me also say i admire what you do, your incredible ability to recall and sort through so many stories. this fandom is lucky to have you! <3

Hello friend! Thank you for the kind words, I really appreciate it ❤️ here are some fics centered on jealousy. I did a few other lists for this trope over the years, you can find them here, here and here.

Jealous Harry:

Hourglass Heart by @bixgirl1 (E, 5k)

It only happened once — depending on how Harry counted.

Utterly Yours by @lazywonderlvnd (E, 6.5k)

Draco gets back at Harry for his late nights as an Auror by flirting with the new Arithmancy professor. Harry's not usually the jealous type, but he has his moments.

Intention by @the-sinking-ship (E, 7k)

Harry really ought to listen to whatever Ron is saying, but it becomes impossible to focus when a familiar figure across the pub curls his fingers around another man’s tie. And when that man leans in with a wolfish smile, Harry sees red, and all he can think is mine.

on the divine agony of longing by @flimsi (E, 25k)

Speaking to Draco is like poking a beehive - and Harry is a glutton for punishment. In which Harry makes some serious blunders and then tries to fix it. Somehow.

Around You Moves by ignatiustrout (E, 29k)

Harry knew Draco was gay when he invited him to move in. He’s never had a problem with this. So why does he feel so weird about Draco bringing men home all of a sudden?

Two to Lie and One to Listen by @fluxweeed (E, 84k)

It’s weird when Hermione announces that she and Ron have broken up. It’s weirder when this is followed by the revelation that she’s already moved on—and the new object of her affections is Draco Malfoy.

this heaven of mud by @garagepaperback (E, 94k)

A love story told in two somewhat unreliable parts, over six years. Featuring secret shagging, to friends, to the 'how is it fair for someone to say your name like that' sort of friends, to, finally, someone you could call a home.

Grounds for Divorce by Tepre (E, 122k)

Malfoy finds a coin. Harry finds a letter.

Jealous Draco:

Packing the Flat by marguerite_26 (E, 6k)

Months after their explosive break-up, Draco insists Harry return to their flat to remove his belongings.

Don't Stop It Before It Begins by mischieviolet (E, 19k)

“I don’t understand how this is of any concern to you, Malfoy,” Harry said, crossing his arms over his chest. Draco blinked at the use of his last name, something that Harry only used with him in jest these days. “I’m merely spending time with my Auror partner, who is from another country, and has no one here. I would do the same if it were you.” “It’s not me though, is it?” Draco all but shouted, unable to stop himself.

The Partner, The Rival and The Very Big Case by oceaxe (E, 24k)

When Harry and Nott are paired up to go undercover as fake boyfriends, Draco is disappointed not to get the assignment. It's just professional jealousy that's making him feel so upset. Obviously. He's engaged to be married to Astoria, after all.

(The Piece) I was Missing All Along by lauren3210 (E, 30k)

Draco and Harry have been flatmates and best friends for years, and Draco thinks life is just perfect that way. But when something comes along and threatens to take all that away, Draco has to decide what it is he really wants, and just how hard he's going to work to get it.

Make Me a Headline (I Want to Be That Bold) by @dictacontrion (E, 31k)

Draco never expected to see Harry doing that again. Especially with someone else, in a grainy photograph that's landed on his desk one Monday morning.

Nights With You by @the-sinking-ship (E, 58k)

Draco is mortified when moments prior to departing for the most anticipated destination wedding of the year, he is cruelly dumped. But when he learns that Harry Potter has, at long last, split with his horrible boyfriend, Draco is certain his luck has changed.

[the-kr8tor]

REQUEST FOR THE TWINS!

● the twins saying their first words

Like, imagine they're playing with toys or something, and R and Hobie are like lowkey flirting whilst keeping an eye on them, and then all of a sudden you both just hear a tiny voice yelling "Mony!" And you snap your head around and bam, Billie is giggling and yelling her sisters name 🥹

Yay! Billie and Ramona!! Hope you like it ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, mom! Reader, dad! Hobie, dad au, twins au, Billie and Ramona au, FLUFF

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

You watch your girls play on the puzzle pieces mat that Ned bought for them. Billie smothers her bunny plush in her sticky kisses, while Ramona babbles as she ‘reads’ her soft book about ducks. They look mighty adorable in their matching onesies, Billie in her pastel purple one, and Mona in her baby blue onesie. You have the camera in your hands, always ready if they ever do something adorable, which was every five minutes for you. Whether it's Mona showing you her toy plastic orange, or it's Billie trying to yank her ribbon off her pretty hair, you have a picture of it. You think you're about to run out of film at this point.

You feel a sudden chill on top of your head, and you immediately know it's Hobie with your drink. Condensation falls on your hair, and Hobie smirks at your narrowed eyes.

“You're rude.” Despite your words, your smile says otherwise. “I hope the girls don't get your rudeness.” Taking the drink, you reach for his sweatpants strings to tug and untie it playfully.

Hobie turns his attention to the undone strings and then to your teasing smile. “And ‘m the one who's rude?”

You giggle, hand still holding onto the strings, guiding him down on the sofa so he could sit down next to you. He rolls his eyes but relents and indulges you. Sitting down with a groan, he crosses his leg over the other before his arm instinctively snakes behind your shoulders, palm resting on your bicep. Once he looks over to you, he's met with a grin etched on your lips.

“What?”

“You've only been a dad for a year and you already have the trademark dad groan.”

He scootches closer to you, hip to hip, you place your head on his shoulder. “And you've only been a mum for a year and you're already askin’ for another one.”

You lean away, making a face that makes him guffaw. “I literally just placed my head on you.”

“You sure? Your hand on my back says somethin’ else, love.” He says with a raised brow. True enough, your cold hand is splayed over the small of his back comfortably. Billie gurgles next to his foot, placing her rabbit on top of it like it's about to go on a ride. Hobie smiles and moves down to fix her ponytail.

“I didn't even notice, Hobs. Besides, you're the one walking around with a crop top on.” You take a sip from your drink as you watch him gently tie Billie’s hair.

“It's laundry day.” He says with a chuckle, which Mona copies with her own laughter. It's a chain reaction, you giggle from the cuteness and Billie follows with her own chortle. Hobie pecks Billie's chubby cheek, making the girl shriek from happiness. “Mummy can't deny how dad looks this fit in a crop top.” He whispers to Billie, his daughter tilts her head like she's trying to understand his words. Turning towards Mona, he brings his girl to the conversation as you take a few more pictures of them. “Ain't that right, mon mon?”

“Don't answer that, mony.” You jokingly say, glass now sitting empty on the side table. Hobie flicks your leg in retaliation. Chuckling, eyes staring lovingly at Hobie, you don't notice how Mona is trying to speak. “Don't bring the girls into the argument.”

“So we're arguin’ now, hm?” Hobie sits up, palms finding your hips, holding you in place as he looms over you. He raises a brow, “say, what are we arguin’ ‘bout?”

You clamp down, lovestruck gaze stuck on his face, cheeks suddenly warm, lips trying to reach his own. “I don't know anymore.”

“Really?” He teases with a smirk, knowing full well how you're feeling. Leaning down, he nudges your nose with his own, smile mirroring yours.

“Shut up and kiss me, Hobart.” Laughing victoriously, he abandons your waist to cup your cheek. You're both giggling as he squeezes your cheek.

“Mony!” The sudden voice has you pushing Hobie away to look at your girls. He falls on the couch with an oomph, the look of surprise on his face is almost the same as yours. “Mony!” Billie says again, crawling over to her sister with the stuffed bunny in her tiny fist.

Ramona meets her halfway, giggling in excitement, smiling wildly and clapping her hands. Her cute and rotund cheeks bring out the cuteness aggression out of you, wanting to go squish her in your arms. “Bee!” She answers back, and you swear your heart took a leap. You're not ready when they start taking their first steps.

Hobie holds on to your shoulder, and you hold onto him as you watch with an awestruck face. He shakes you, laughing as the twins continue to call each other's names. They blabber about, Billie gives her toy to her sister, while Mona kisses Billie on her cheek as thanks. It's safe to say that both girls didn't get their parents’ ‘rudeness.’

“Holy shi—!” Your sudden palm on Hobie's mouth stops him from continuing his sentence. His muffled laughter makes the twins turn their heads towards the two of you, looking like you interrupted their conversation.

“Where's my camera?!” You frantically try to find the camera that might've fallen into the cushions while Billie shares her bunny with Mona.

Hobie has now left your side to sit next to them to watch their interaction like he's watching his favourite band play.

[nobigsecrets]

(I Don't Believe) It's That Simple

Fandom: 9-1-1 Relationship: Eddie Diaz & Tommy Kinard Rating: T Words: 2,478

But this? Is coming from a different place. It's also clearly running deeper than random curiosity, it's something that Eddie has already put some thought into—and something dawns on Tommy. Is Eddie questioning?

"Hey, Eddie," Tommy says, as softly as he can manage to pull Eddie back out of his head. "Where's this coming from? You think you might be... not straight?"

Or: Eddie and Tommy are having a conversation.

Read on AO3

"So, how did you know?" Eddie asks, apropos of nothing.

Tommy's brow furrows as he's trying to make sense of the question. They're sitting in Eddie's living room, after they'd first played basketball and then watched basketball on TV while eating takeout and having a couple of beers. The game has long since ended though and they've been silently nursing their latest round of beers for the past few minutes. He tries to recall what they were talking about last. A call the 118 had taken a few days ago, he remembers, Evan had had to rappel down a bridge and it had been stupidly risky. But apparently Eddie's thoughts had taken some turns Tommy can't quite follow—

"How did I know what?"

"Buck told me—" Eddie starts, then has to put his words into the right order before he continues. "He said he knew he was bi the moment you kissed him. Like you handed him a puzzle piece and he immediately knew where it was supposed to go." Eddie takes a swig of his beer and turns around so he can better look at Tommy, who's sitting at the other end of the couch. "So I wondered, how did you know?"

"Mmh," Tommy says and then asks back, "how did I know Evan is bi? Or how did I know I'm gay?" It's been too many beers over the course of the evening and he can't quite read if Eddie's sudden interest is sparked out of random curiosity—or something else.

"Oh, uhm," Eddie says, somewhat unintelligible and clearly the beers have left an impact on him, too. "Well, both. I think. What I meant is how did you know you're not straight?"

"I always knew," Tommy readily admits, marveling at how easy it sounds when in reality it had been anything but. So for accuracy he adds, "but for the longest time I pretended that I didn't."

Eddie makes a confused face for a moment. "So you, uh, dated women? Like, before—?”

"Yes, I did hook up with women," Tommy admits and sighs, he's not exactly proud of his past. "It was before I came out to myself. I lied to them and I lied to myself, pretended it was what I wanted even though it never felt right."

Tommy knows it was a shitty thing to do. He now also knows it was driven by self-preservation for the most part and therefore explainable. Not excusable, his mind adds automatically. But his therapist had been adamant about driving that point home, that there were reasons for why he did what he did, that he shouldn't blindly take all the blame for it on himself.

Eddie nods like he understands. It takes a moment before he comes out with the next question. "And did you ever have a girlfriend? Like, something long-term?"

"No, not really," Tommy says, "only ever a few months before I broke it off." And that's one thing the Army offered that he's actually still grateful for. Being on duty, getting deployed, it was an easy excuse to get out of anything that came close to being called a relationship. "The longest I've been with a girl was through basic training and a few months after that. Maybe half a year? I couldn't do it, it was—“

Tommy breaks off, looking for a way to explain how stifling it had felt but he doesn't need to bother because Eddie offers, "It was like performing a role and you played it because it was expected of you."

"Yeah!" Tommy agrees, surprised by how precisely Eddie's words hit the mark.

Eddie murmurs something that Tommy doesn't quite catch but that sounds a lot like "go figure" and now Tommy takes a closer look. Eddie looks tired, but he's looked like that ever since Chris left. It's the actual reason why Tommy is sitting on Eddie's couch this late at night. But Eddie also looks anxious. He's worrying at the label on his empty beer bottle with his thumbnail, peeling off the paper in tiny pieces.

Tommy knows Eddie has started therapy. He knows—via Evan—that Eddie thinks it might be helping. But this? Is coming from a different place. It's also clearly running deeper than random curiosity, it's something that Eddie has already put some thought into—and something dawns on Tommy. Is Eddie questioning?

"Hey, Eddie," Tommy says, as softly as he can manage to pull Eddie back out of his head. "Where's this coming from? You think you might be... not straight?"

Eddie takes a deep breath. He puts the empty bottle on the side table. "I don't know, man," he says, looking over at Tommy before running both hands over his face. When he looks back up, he seems more determined.

"I did a full Buck the other day," he says and a small, affectionate grin briefly flashes over his face. "I overheard something Hen said to Buck and I didn't want to butt into their conversation, so I went and looked it up on Wikipedia. And then I read the whole article on bisexuality. And then I found out about all the other sexual identities I didn't even know existed."

Eddie shoots a quick look at Tommy, hesitant and vulnerable. Tommy can clearly see he's heading somewhere, that there's something that’s s been stewing in him, something he needs to get out and Tommy waits him out patiently.

"I read all kinds of stuff, you know, and I read about—" Eddie continues and now he's taking a deep breath, bracing himself for the part that he actually wants to share. "Did you know you can be sexually attracted to someone but not romantically? Or the other way around or not at all?"

"That's—“ Tommy says and wrecks his brain. He can vaguely remember someone explaining this at a meetup of the queer LAFD group he sometimes joins. Split-attraction... something, he thinks. It's not what he'd expected Eddie to say if he's being honest.

"It's got something to do with asexuality, right?" Tommy shifts his position from where he's lounging in the corner of the couch, turning more towards Eddie and scooting a little closer.

Eddie looks relieved that Tommy apparently knows what he's talking about. "Yeah, that," he confirms. "It said on the web that you can be asexual or aromantic or a mix of both—it's a spectrum, evidently."

"And you think you're somewhere on that spectrum?" Tommy asks in a way he hopes is reassuring as much as encouraging.

"Yes. No. I don't know. But man, it kinda makes sense to me." Eddie says and the way he's torn up about this, the doubt Tommy can hear in his voice, it sounds painfully familiar.

"I mean, I do like having sex. Seeing a beautiful woman, it works for me, you know. But I suck at relationships, it's like... like I said, a performance. Always has, even with—" Eddie stops abruptly, biting his lip. He looks away for a second before he catches himself.

"I once had an actual panic attack over being stuck in a relationship, did Buck ever tell you that?"

"He did not," Tommy says with a small shake of his head. He's got to fight back his curiosity because it sounds like that's a story he'd like to hear about someday. But he sure as hell won't ask for more than what Eddie is willing to share right now.

When he'd picked up things with Evan again after their first failed date, Tommy had promised himself to go slow, to do right by Evan in a way no one had ever done right by him. But then it turned out Evan neither needed to go slow nor to be handled with care and they'd been able to set their pace together. It had been a pleasant surprise after their initial bumpy start.

With Eddie though, Tommy recognizes the same hesitation, the same kind of uncertainty, the same fear of failing to meet other people's expectations—or his own expectations for that matter—that had plagued himself for so many years. He's glad, and honored, that Eddie asked him about it. Tommy thinks that if he'd had someone back then, someone he could've trusted, he might have come to terms with being gay so much earlier. But the first openly queer person he'd ever met, or at least had come into closer contact with had been Hen—and by that point he'd dug himself so deep into the closet that he barely remembered there was a way out. He doesn't want anyone to go through the same pain, not if he can help it—

"How can I be sure that I'm not just confused?" Eddie asks now, taking Tommy's momentary silence as encouragement to go on. "Like, how do I know it’s because I’m... aromantic and not just because I’m crap at relationships? I mean, maybe I'm just a shitty partner.” Eddie stumbles a bit over the word; like it's a pair of pants that's one size too big and doesn't fit quite yet.

"Well first of all, I don't think you'd be a shitty partner because I know for a fact that you're a great and loyal friend," Tommy says and he's glad to get a small—if pretty self-conscious—smile in response. "But to answer your question about how you know—you basically just said it yourself: it makes sense to you. That's all that matters."

"That's all that matters?" Eddie repeats, eyebrows raised and oozing skepticism. "I don't believe it's that simple."

"It really is that simple." It's a fact Tommy's had to learn the hard way but it's something he now believes in one hundred percent. "You are the only who knows how you feel. What works for you, as you put it. No one else can tell you that. So no one else gets to decide. If there's a label that makes sense to you, if you feel comfortable with it, claim it."

Tommy can almost see the gears turning inside Eddie's head as he's thinking things over. He waits him out patiently and reaches for the beer bottle he deposited on the coffee table earlier. Coffee would probably be a better fitted drink for this conversation, he thinks as he takes a drink of the lukewarm beer.

"The idea— well, the possibility of just not wanting a romantic relationship with someone, it... it felt like a relief," Eddie admits. "I don't like going on dates. It feels all staged and, I don't know, fake. Most of the time. I'd rather be hanging as friends, you know. Like with Buck, with you guys." Eddie gestures towards Tommy, apparently wanting him to know he's included. It's sweet.

"But then I think a family is everything I ever wanted. Being married, having kids, the way it's supposed to be. I never pictured my life any other way. And I think of Chris—and it all feels incredibly selfish."

"And did you ever give yourself the time and space to picture your life any other way?" Tommy asks and carefully places his still half-full beer bottle back onto the coffee table, very much aware that his next question is a delicate one. "Chris' mom, she was your high school sweetheart, right?"

Eddie looks up sharply and Tommy is ready to apologize and take a step back, he knows the woman has left a sore mark behind, but then Eddie's face softens and he nods in agreement.

"Shannon," Eddie says. "Yes, she was. And we had Chris when we were 19. We didn't have much of a choice back then. At least it didn't feel like we did."

"Yeah, I can imagine," Tommy says and he means it. He remembers being that age, being pressured into making decisions that will affect your whole life—while being offered no real prospects of a future. "That's why sometimes we adopt what people expect us to do as our own expectations.

"Look, when I was growing up and through my time in the Army, I told myself I couldn't be gay—because I'm not interested in... I don't know, arts or fashion or fancy shit like that. I like typical guy stuff, always have. Engines and sports and fighting. I didn't fit any of the clichés about gay men. So I fell between places. I wasn't straight in the way people expected me to be and I wasn't gay in the way people expected gay men to be. It took me years to figure that one out. It takes time, Eddie."

"Yes, I guess that's something I need to untangle," Eddie says. "Shannon and I, we fucked up. And then I tried to do right by her by marrying her. Plus it was the only way I knew how to appease to my parents. And I... I always tried to tell myself it was what we would've done anyway. But now I don't think it was what either of us really wanted at the time." He sighs and rubs a hand over his face and hair, but now the gesture is more thoughtful than anxious. Eventually, a small grin steals itself on Eddie's face, "See? It's not that simple after all."

"Alright, I relent. It can be messy until you get there," Tommy says, glad to see a tiny challenging glint back in Eddie's eyes. "But once you stop lying to yourself, once you stop trying to be who other people want you to be, it really is that simple."

"I'll take your word for it!" Eddie scoots forward on the couch and reaches for his beer bottle, pulling a face at finding it empty. It's a clear signal that he's done talking for now.

"Let me know how it goes," Tommy says and then finishes his own beer in a few gulps.

"You want another one?" Eddie gets up from couch and starts to collect the empty bottles.

"No, I'm good," Tommy says, getting up from the couch, too. "I should get going anyway. It's late." He takes half of the bottles and helps Eddie carry them into the kitchen.

"Yeah, sure." Eddie puts the empty bottles on the counter and motions for Tommy to do the same.

"Tell Buck I said hi. And that I'm sorry for keeping you this long," he says as they're walking back into the living room and towards the front door.

"I'm sure he won't mind." Tommy stops with his hand on the door handle, "but just so you know: I won't tell him what we were talking about. That's your job. If and when you're ready."

"Understood," Eddie agrees and then pulls Tommy into a quick hug, patting his shoulder twice for good measure. "Thanks for listening, man."

"Sure," Tommy says with a smile. "Thanks for trusting me with this."

[mozart-the-meerkitten]

Alright I just rewatched End of Time so it's the perfect time to inflict this on all of you

LISTEN. Ever since I watched Night of the Living Pharmacists I have been thinking about how it's just like the time the Master made himself all the people on Earth. I have no idea what to do with this information.

Also apparently the difference between making everyone in the world clones of yourself intentionally vs. unintentionally is that if you do it intentionally they obey you. Oh and they're not zombies.

[medicinemane]

I don't know... horrible things happen all around the world and it's not a competition

Atrocities are committed against multiple groups in multiple parts of the world at the exact same moment, and none of them erase each other. They all matter, all the people in this world who are being brutalized matter. There shouldn't be any line you draw where one group doesn't actually matter as much as another

You're welcome to prioritize your energy towards helping one group or another, but what's not ok is invalidating or dismissing people who are actively being harmed

Same goes for trying to figure out which social group has things worst (and lets be honest, always using a US lens)

Like... maybe the important thing is to prop each other up and help everyone get on their own feet rather than trying to... pick fights about if physical disabilities or mental illness are less respected (I'm trying to pick a more absurd example but sadly I've seen exactly that argument happen before). Maybe it doesn't really matter and what matters is helping who we can when we can

I'm tired of it, I'm just fucking tired of it. Support people, champion them when the world is just brutalizing them, but you don't need to throw a single other person under the bus to do that

Which seems to be an absolutely impossible lesson for people to learn

[capricornsicle]

something something the villain of the season (the one about how fear can give way to extremism if you're not careful and how easy it is for many, many people to become radicalized by one person's radical hate and how genocide is a bad thing actually regardless of whether individuals of the targeted group have themselves done terrible things) being a black woman who survived an incident of indiscriminate mass murder is perhaps. not the best idea considering the themes involved

[missiodine]

tfw you wanna try to play ttrpgs again, but ever since playing a few years ago during a certain two campaigns, you were bullied by people who you thought were your friends because you didn't know how to play and they made up reasons why they should dislike you irl. especially while you tried to be nice to them and give them space and tried to make steps towards interacting with them in rp too.

like no, it wasn't like "oh, it's just character interaction, these characters just don't like each other!" no it was "no joke, I absolutely hate your guts, Miss Iodine, fuck you and I'll be an arse to you in-game and irl. i will ignore everything you and your character say, i will attack your character because why not and say it's just what my character would do, and then start harassing my DMs"

love it when i tried for months to reach out for a proper sit down only to be given a sorry-not-sorry half-assed push the blame onto the victim apology

like yes this lives rent free in my head. you won, if that's what you wanted.

[croakings]

SO. sorry this is going to be deranged i'm not proofreading this

so i've been writing a lot recently, and this particular project involves a language and culture i'm making up. and it's got me thinking about language, and communication, and lying.

and this is probably a very autistic realization, but it's hit me that usually when people lie, what they are trying to convey— and like, we're ignoring the ethics of it, this post is devoid of judgement one way or another, i'm just examining this thought— is a request for an emotional response from someone that the truth is less or unlikely to get across as effectively or as easily.

like, normal example, totally excusable: "my wife is in the hospital," when it's your girlfriend in the hospital. factually untrue! but what one wants people to hear is "someone i love and want to spend the rest of my life with is in dire straits and therefore so am i, please excuse anything in my behavior that may be caused by this," essentially. or like you can swap wife/girlfriend with sibling/best friend or aunt/neighbor or whatever. what you're trying to get across is the magnitude of the relationship rather than communicating the nature of the relationship itself.

we have words for that! like, yes, it's lying to use the wrong words, technically, to "trick" someone into understanding how close whatever given person is to you, and how much their condition is affecting you, but! also, i do have to say, in that particular instance i do have to say that, the primary goal of language being communication...... it's interesting! the facts are untrue. but the gravity of the circumstance was conveyed clearly with intention, which is to say, the emotional impact was increased by sacrificing literal clarity. this is basically what hyperbole does!!!!

most lying does that, doesn't it? most lies that i can think of are in some way in service to emotion above like, anything else. someone wanting to spare themselves someone else's emotion ("i'm fine", "i didn't do that", "i don't want this, you take it") and this is....... in a way, strictly speaking, effective communication. it's. hm.

like, for the record, i'm not pro-lying, and also, to reiterate, it's also ineffective communication, because it's factually untrue, which means again that however much an aim was achieved or a meaning conveyed you do it at the expense of one whole half of the venture. but it's interesting, isn't it? how much lying is usually angling for a specific impact, or to gain some form of ease and/or expediency.

i feel like i'm probably getting this across poorly which is also like, really funny, but what prompted this is like......... language is an imperfect tool! we know this. speaking (or whatever) is always an act of translation, and in translation something is always lost. like, even if that thing is only time. one is never able to express anything exactly as quickly as the original; thoughts take time to parcel up and deliver, or come out poorly if not mangled if at all recognizably. when going from one literal language to another, you have to decide whether you want to be more accurate literally, in impact, or in delivery, so respectively and with the simplest example you have to decide if when you translate an idiom you do so verbatim, or with an equivalent, and then whether or not you explain your choice and/or its value. because like, in an unattainable "perfect" translation, you could communicate both the meaning and the trappings of its delivery seamlessly and simply in about the same space as it was originally given more or less immediately. instead, because we can't do that, you can sacrifice to some degree either the original words, their original impact, or the original delivery, by again respectively changing the words altogether, losing the impact (generally also altogether), or losing the directness/straight forward nature of the communication by inserting an info blurb. and of course any kind of translation needs some extra degree of time, even just in its delivery. you lose things! you have to decide which things are most valuable to you to allow you to be "truest". like, which part of any given sentence is most important ? it varies, right? and sometimes one can effect another, like, what if brevity is important to the impact? or conversely, what if something specific has to be communicated in a long-winded and round-about way to have the same impact, but it's tricky to manage doing so without losing the clarity? what do you sacrifice? the meaning, the impact, or the delivery? does that make sense? and you're probably always going to lose time.

so, lying!!!!! it's sacrificing meaning for the other two, is what i was trying to say earlier. it's an imperfect translation!!!!! in one sense!!! but it is a translation!!!!! isn't that interesting?? actually no, sorry, most ethically speaking it's 2 sacrifices; meaning and delivery. like, as i kept saying, the facts are untrue (meaning), and at some point for the sake of clarity it'll be necessary to be like "oh no, sorry, actually it was [the factual truth], i just said [x] because [some form of expected expediency/ease], [explanation of that choice]." (<- delivery.) but y’know with lying with ill intentions you do get to skip that part, and in that case the lack of correcting by revisiting/extending the delivery is part of the communication, whereby you are implicitly saying something like "fuck you, also". or possibly "fuck me," idk, lying can contain multitudes. which!!!!!!!! isn't that interesting??? talking!!!!!!!!!!!! communication!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! how and why and in what ways we say things........... the choices we make and the reasons we make those choices....... the sacrifices that are and are not acceptable to make, and in which contexts, in order to come across as you intend to...........

idk i'm just turning this around like a shiny rock in my hands. like, also, i do know that lying is done with the intent to deceive, and also that lying (derogatory) is done maliciously, with either the intent to harm or at least a lack of intent of care, but. hm. isn't it interesting, what you can learn when you look at how people lie, and how those things can change based on why you think they were lying? they still communicated effectively!!!!!!! they did it on purpose!!!!!!!!!!!!! they made those choices for a reason. that still..... tells something!!!!

even imperfect communication can, in its flaws, tell us something!!!!!!!! does someone sacrifice time, meaning, impact, delivery? why? in what contexts? with intent? for what purpose? isn't it interesting????????????????

[snekdood]

i honestly deserved none of the shit ppl did to me that lead me to this point

[death-rebirth-senshi]

Ashley: You don't believe in god? 🤨

Me: Aw, how sweet

Suvi: Just a constant reminder of the divine intelligence behind all creation

Me: Hello, human resources!?

[fragmentedblade]

I hate that when I look up the "Kalpas" tag here there's me and then there's me again, but on another blog. Fake moustache me

[inkskinned]

the thing about some men is that they want you to remember, at all times, that you are underneath them. that with one word or look or "joke", you will stay beneath them. that even "exceptions" to the rule are not true exceptions - the commonly cited statistic that one in eight men believe they could win against serena williams.

women's gymnastics is often not seen as real gymnastics. whatever the fuck non-euclidian horrors rhythmic gymnasts are capable of, it's often tamped down as being not a sport. some of the most dominant athletes in the world are women. nobody watches women's soccer. despite years of dancing and being built like a fucking brick, men always assume they're faster and stronger than i am. you wouldn't like what happens when they are incorrect. once while drunk at a guy's house i won a held-plank challenge by a solid minute. the party was over after that - he became exceedingly violent.

what i mean is that you can be perfect, and they still think you're ... lacking, somehow. i hope you understand i'm trying to express a neutral statement when i say: taylor swift was the possibly the most patriarchy-palatable, straight-down-the-line woman we could churn out. she is white, conventionally attractive, usually pretty mild in personality. say what you will about her (and you should, she's a billionaire, she can handle it), but a few things seem to be true about her: 1. she can write a damn catchy song, and 2. the eras tour truly was a massive commercial success and was also genuinely an impressive feat of human athleticism and performance.

i don't know if she deserves the title of "woman of the year," i'm not debating that in this post. what i am saying is that she was named Woman of The Year, and then an untalented man got onstage at the golden globes and made fun of her for attending her boyfriend's football games. what i am saying is that this woman altered local economies - and her dating life is still being made into a "harmless" punchline. the camera panned, greedy, over to her downing a full glass of champagne. congratulations taylor! you are woman of the year! but you are a woman. even her.

fuck, man. write better material.

a guy gets onstage at a college graduation and despite the fact like half the crowd is made up of women, he spends a significant proportion of it warning these people - who spent possibly hundreds of thousands of dollars on their education - that they were lied to. that the "real" meaning of femininity is motherhood. that they shouldn't rest on the laurels of that education-they-paid-for but instead throw it away to kneel at a man's heel. imagine that. sweating in your godawful polyester gown (that you also had to pay for!), fresh out of 4 years of pushing yourself ever-harder: and some guy you've never met - who knows nothing about you - he reminds you this "win" is a pyrrhic one at best. you really shouldn't consider yourself that extraordinary. you're still a woman, even after years of study.

god forbid you are not a pretty woman, but if you are pretty, you must be dumb. god forbid you are not ablebodied or white or cis or straight or good at swallowing. you must be beneath a man, or else they are not a man. the equation for masculinity seems to just be: that which is not a woman or womanly (god forbid). anything "feminine" is thereby anathema. to engage in "feminine" things such as therapy, getting a hug from a friend, or crying - it is giving up ones manhood. therefore women need to be put in their place to ensure that masculinity is protected.

this is something i have struggled to explain to terfs - they are not doing the work of feminism, but rather the patriarchy. by asserting that women and men must be (on some secret level) oppositional and in conflict, they also assume that being a woman is akin to being another species. but bigotry does not stem from observational truths or clarity - that is what makes it bigotry. there was nothing in my childhood that made me fundamentally different from my brother. we are treated differently nonetheless. to assert there is some biological drive that enforces my gender role is to assert that women have a gendered role. men do not see women as equal to them not because of biological reality - but instead because the core tenant of the patriarchy is that women aren't full, realized people.

we are told from a very young age to excuse misbehavior as a single man's choice - not all men. it is not all men, just that one guy. all women are gold-digging bitches who belong in the kitchen - but if a man is mean, bigoted, or violent to you, it's just that particular guy, and that means nothing about men-as-a-whole. it is only one guy who got mad when you gently rejected him. it is only one guy who warns her this trophy is heavy, are you sure you can hold it? it is only one guy who smashes her face into the cake. it is only one guy talking into a mic about hating our bodily autonomy.

i have just found that they often wait until the moment we actually seem to be upstaging them. you sit in a meeting where you're presenting your own findings and he says get me a coffee? or you run to the end of the marathon and are about to finish first and he pushes your kids out in front of you. you win the chess game and they make some comment akin to well, you're ugly away. we can be the billionaire and get the dream life and finally fucking do it and yet! still! they have this strange, visceral urge to say well actually, if you think you're so great -

it's not one just one guy. it's one in eight.

[carrotpiss]

:o(

[medicinemane]

Sometimes you have something that you could say, that you think about saying, that you more or less know how you'd phrase it... but it's just not fucking worth it cause you know for a fact that people don't fucking listen

I don't know, I try to stay... if not optimistic then at least with a mind set of "doesn't matter, we've got no choice but to try and make things better"

Truthfully though I think I'm extremely pessimistic when it comes to the chances of anyone actually listening to what I say

I'm not sure if I'm just bad with words but... it seems impossible to convey even simple thoughts to people so... truthfully I've more or less given up and have just stopped trying. Especially if I don't at least know people well

So there it is

[inbabylontheywept]

she was dead silent on the drive home, but that was okay. sometimes, after band practice, she was just out of words. it was a short drive to her house. the only part where it actually felt weird was after i pulled up her parent’s driveway. 

after that, the silence stretched so far it smeared and left a weird residue. she kept looking at the car door like she wanted to leave, so i looked at the door too, then she looked at me, and i looked at her, and my first thought was that she was going to tell me that the door was stuck. i was used to that car always doing some damn thing. it was the car me and all my siblings had learned to drive in, and it was really beat to hell. there were dents all over the body, which we’d unsuccessfully tried fixing up with spackle. it had looked nice for maybe a week, but then the sun wrecked it - the spackle cracked up like the mud on the bottom of a dry riverbed and turned a sort of off yellow-white that made the car looked like it had been molded out of chicken shit. it also had a bullet hole it through the cabin that whistled like a toothless old man whenever the car went above 40, so loud it could drown out the radio, and a cabin that smelled so strongly of bugspray that even the arizona summer we drove everywhere we could with the windows down.

(if you have kids one day, you will maybe, possibly, begin to understand how much i loved that car.)

anyway, i was thinking about what else could possibly be wrong with the chickenshitmobile, and she just kept looking at me, and then i wondered if there was something on my face, and she just kept looking at me, and then the penny dropped and i realized she was trying to work up the nerve to break up with me. 

now, i’d seen her work up the nerve to do things like this before – it could take quite a while. and knowing it was about to happen made the waiting immediately unbearable. 

so i said hey. 

and she looked at me, very startled, and said hey back real small. like she’d been caught. and in a way, i suppose she had. 

and i said it’s okay. you can just say it. i’ll be okay.

i’m always okay. 

and she said: i’m really sorry. 

i loved her, you know? it was highschool, but teenagers are capable of love. the way people love changes over time just as much as the way they stand, or the way they talk, but things don’t stop existing just because they're different. opposite really – a thing only stops changing when it's fully gone.

and i said, nothing to be sorry for, and i meant it. she looked a little relived, and i was happy to give her that peace. then she left. i watched her make it through the front door, because that was just habit at that point, and then i sat there a while afterwards, checking how i felt. and the answer was not good, but good enough to make it home. good enough to limp on. 

so i put my car in reverse, took my last look goodbye, and immediately backed into her neighbor’s car. 

crunch. 

air bags didn't go off, which was good. i left a decent dent in the bumper of the other car. genuinely couldn’t tell if i did anything to my car – anything wrong with it just kind of blended together into the general ecosystem of hand mottled, sun cracked, chickenshit spackle. 

i checked my glove box, and my car insurance info was, of course, out of date. my phone was dead too. as a teenager, my phone was less my lifeline to my friends, and more my tether to my parents, so i wasn’t particularly conscious of keeping it charged. both my fault.

i sat there a few minutes, trying to think of the best way to handle things, and there was only one answer i could think of, and i hated that answer, so i spent a few more minutes trying and failing to think of a better one, and then a few more coming to peace with what had to be done. 

then i went back to knock on my now ex’s front door. 

her dad opened, which i was very relieved over, even if he seemed less than thrilled. he looked me over, and in a firm, but slightly apologetic way said: she does not want to see you right now. 

(i think he assumed i was going to try and talk her out of the break up?)

and i said not here for her. i just backed into your neighbor’s car, and i need to call my dad, but my phone’s dead. could i borrow yours?

and he looked at me, then back at his neighbors car, which sure enough was dented, then he looked at the chickenshitmobile, and if there was something wrong with it, it just kind of blended into the general Wrongness of the car, then back to me, and i could see him imagining the last ten minutes from my pov: getting broken up with, backing into a car, having to walk up to your exes door and borrow a phone, calling my dad to tell him that i just reversed into someone.  

and his expression shifted from stern and apologetic to truly sad, which felt more kind that i deserved. things only got here because i kept fucking up - forgot to look behind me, forgot to replace the insurance forms, forgot to charge my phone. it was my mess, but his sympathy meant the world to me. i probably would’ve cried if he said sorry, or patted me on the back or called me sport, but instead he said

stay out here – i’ll bring you a phone.

and then he left.  

i found a nice spot on the lawn in the shade under a sycamore, then settled into his grass.i was trying not to freak out, and was doing an okay job. he came out a minute or so later, not just with a phone, but a juicebox and a jar of green olives, which really threw a wrench in the whole try not to cry thing. soon as i saw those, a few tears squoze out. i was still hoping i could pass them off as Manly Tears but then he told me that he’d gotten the olives a few weeks before and had been meaning to hand them off to me, and that this was his last chance for that. then i made a sound like a horse drowning in a bog, and he patted my back pretty rough, four solid thumps, like he wasn't sure if i was crying or choking on an olive, and was trying to cover both bases at once.

then he went back inside, and i made a few more bog horse noises while finishing off the rest of the entire jar of green olives, and then i called my dad.

he was about ten minutes away that day, and luckily was home. he drove over, and we went to the neighbor’s house, and from there things actually went quite nice. the neighbor was a retired man who actually said he could fix the dent himself, no need for insurance. he said he appreciated that i didn't just drive off, and i said i was really sorry about his car, and he said he was really sorry about my car, and then he gestured to the chickenshitmobile and i laughed because it really was a disaster on wheels.

then we left.

i thought we were going to head straight home, but instead we went to a gas station, and we both got several slim jims that we folded into thick enough coils that we could put them on a hotdog bun because the growing up mormon equivalent of having a sad brewski with your dad is just choosing to make bad decisions sober. then he took me to the canals and we watched the sun turn all orange and pink, and he looked over at me and said:

brains are good at remembering bad days. so you gotta make sure that a bad day has a good part in in, so you can remember that too. remember that when you have a kid. try to do a good job on days like that - they're going to be a big part of how they remember you.

and then he gave me a big hug and said he was never going to eat another slim jim again.

---

the year after that i went to college, which kicked my butt in new and exciting ways. and on a lot of those bad days, after a test that went sour, or a faux paus that was particularly embarrassing, or some other hardship of my new adult life, i’d stop by the gas station and pick up leathery, half jerkied hotdog before heading to the canals to watch the sun set. i’d take a bite and imagine my dad next to me, grimacing through the slim-jim wad, asking what good thing i was going use that time to remember. 

and in my head, i’d say you, dad. 

i’m going to remember you.

[strangersynth]

bc you have things to say doesn't always mean you needa say them let alone it also doesn't always mean it's your place to say them kwim