i genuinely do just think it's transparently regressive in a weird turnaround way that the only way the people of this website enjoy a het ship is if the ENTIRE focus is on how awesome and hot and perfect and unstoppable a woman is and how the man is like there to make googly eyes at her and get like nonspecifically dommed-by-implication and we never get ANY thoughts about what she sees in him or what emotional needs are fulfilled for her besides the implication that what every woman wants is someone whos obsessed with her. you people love to find new creative ways to ignore womens interiority
This is not a men’s rights post if you want to do mra shit make your own post
Defenestrate is always going to have a special place in my heart; I learned it from the same book series that had me realizing that coffee is a six-letter word where it's plausible to get every single letter wrong.
Amarillo is the Spanish word for yellow, but it always feels yellow-er than yellow does. I'm quite fond of that word.
μῦς is a great word because Greek has a thing where the M sound and the sm sound at the beginning of words will sometimes swap out for each other, therefore giving you σμῦς, and is there anything cuter than that??? (Its pronounced like smoos, by the way. And it means this guy: 🐁 !!!! )
And, lastly, I'm gonna tag the in the Proto-Indo-European roots behind both Latin ferre and Greek φέρω, which I don't know how to spell or pronounce but it's responsible for a ridiculously high percentage of the English language. Transfer and ferry, of course, but both the Latin and the Greek are irregular, which means that there's forms that sound nothing like -fer that also come from those words. Also, the English word bear *also* derives from the same root. I feel like we need to honor that word the same way I would honor my great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother if she were alive.
Inaptly named things they were, she’d privately started calling them misery hours. She’d have to make it her New Year’s resolution to grow a backbone and start declining the invitations. That, or stop drinking, which might be easier than saying no to kindly Muriel, her generally reserved coworker who turned into a sailor after a couple of G&Ts. After all, her inability to say no to Muriel was precisely what landed her in her current predicament.
“Why don’t you just beg off?” Mary, her roommate, called from the corner of their cramped kitchen. Lily had long thought that her backbone had been imparted to Mary, who had no qualms about shutting people down over the slightest menial transgression.
“Can’t,” Lily called back, the best she could manage without toothpaste slipping down her chin.
“Can’t or won’t? No, don’t bother answering that.” A threatening pause came next, quickly followed by the crinkling sound of paper that Lily knew meant Mary was stuffing a sweet into her mouth. “Oo’ zit, gin?”
“Muriel’s sister-in-law’s cousin’s best friend’s son. Jeff something-or-other.”
“’O no-un.”
“He’s someone surely.”
“No one to you,” Mary clarified in a slightly less muffled voice. “He’s probably no keener to meet than you are.”
“Well thanks for the vote of confidence, Mare.”
Mary appeared in the doorway just as Lily slipped her toothbrush back in its holder. The pair of friends caught each other’s eye in the mirror as Lily started unpinning the rollers from her hair.
“C’mon, since when does anyone look forward to a blind date? Speaking of, you’ve put in a fair bit of effort for this Muriel’s… sister’s… er… whoever’s son. More effort than I’d expect for someone apparently dreading her evening.”
Lily merely shrugged as a reply, uninterested in justifying her pre-date ritual. It was a good ritual, and besides, she deserved to feel like the best version of herself whenever she wanted to.
“Shit,” she exhaled, after catching a look at her watch, “I’m going to be late.”
**
Shockingly, Lily arrived at The Shack, a hip, low-lit bar—“frequented by the young people,” Muriel had told her—ten minutes earlier than the agreed-upon time. She couldn’t stop herself from studying her reflection in the dark glass windows; she brushed her fingers through the mess of curls her hair had become in transit. Breathing deeply and squaring her shoulders, she pushed her way into the bar.
Clusters of people stood every few feet, making the pathway between the tables and chairs into a labyrinth. She wove her way through, an odd determination in her step that clashed with her internal desire to walk right back out the front door. She was supposed to meet Jeff at the bar for drinks and starters and hopefully riveting conversation (Lily wasn’t holding her breath). The semi-circle bartop stretched along a large expanse of the room, barely inhabited at this time of a Friday evening, and Lily couldn’t help herself from admiring the rather nice-looking man tending the bar at the far end.
Eventually, she rounded the bar in search of Jeff, who had been described to her as: tall and handsome. (She didn’t mind a cliché now and again.) Scholarly, and a sharp dresser, if not a bit disheveled. (Whatever that meant.) Dark hair and framed glasses. (She did not mind a nice set of specs to be sure.)
Then she spotted him, sitting across from a stretch of beer taps, shoulders bowed slightly as he studied his phone. As Lily drew closer she watched him press his glasses back up his nose. Even from the admittedly shrinking distance, she could tell he would give the bartender a run for his money. For a moment, a brief, unrelenting irrational moment, excitement flooded her system; it burned in her veins, sent bubbles straight to the logical part of her brain, then—
“Hi, you must be J—” A set of hazel eyes locked with hers and her jaw dipped lower, all the buzz of excitement leaving her. “You’re not…” Jeff.
Oh no.
Oh—but, wait had it been Jeff? Maybe she had heard the wrong name—
“Oh Christ, you are the Lily that Auntie Mabel… I had no idea, Evans, I assure you.”
Of that she was fairly certain he was telling the truth. He was many things, but a liar was not among them. Besides, only an evil force in the universe could explain why out of the billions of people on this planet, Lily had been set up on a blind date with her ex-boyfriend, James Potter.
(discussion in the tags, longass story of how I got here under the cut)
Me, twenty minutes ago, yapping to my girlfriend as she slowly falls asleep: do you think there were autistic women in the like, 1800s that special interest was gossip.
My girlfriend, mumbling: huh?
Me, not even pausing: Like the interpersonal relationships between members of their local community, or even high society. Did they collected all of the information they overheard or were told and had like a whole diary detailing all of the details to cross-reference so they would always have correct details to situations and therefore could refrain from making a fool of themselves for not knowing an implied relationship.
My girlfriend, blinking super slowly: you would do that now if you had the time
Me: this is definitely not based on the terror that lives in my soul because I fear not understanding a situation and saying something stupid about a situation I should know about.
My girlfriend, eyes closing: uh huh...
Me, lying through my teeth: I definitely don't have a deep-rooted fear of being misunderstood or misspeaking or even using an incorrect word. I mean, I read an encyclopedia for fun as a kid. I started reading a thesaurus because I was bored. That isn't something someone with those fears would do, absolutely not.
My girlfriend: *snore*
Me, not noticing my girlfriend has fell asleep: I mean, I just, ya know, love dissecting how words work, like prefixes and suffixes and even root words! It's like a puzzle. Let me connect all these pieces and get a cool little creation!! New word from old pieces!! Prefix A + Root Word B + Suffix C = New Word!
Me, suddenly freezing, because I realize what I just said:
Me, grabbing my girlfriend and shaking her (not) gently: [Girlfriend]. [Girlfriend]!
My girlfriend, startling awake: baby, wha? What happened?
Me, getting super close to her face: etymology is math rules applied to grammar
My girlfriend: ...huh? It's bedtime, what are you talking about?
Blessed are those souls who have emotionally functioning families. A child who grows up seeing emotionally stable relationship is far away from traumas and self - image issues.
