#@grammar

[mostly-funnytwittertweets]

[stafsar]

my muse and I

[sabertoothwalrus]

get him a ouppy!!!!!

[stingrayextraordinaire]

Another year, another group of my delightful ninth graders trying to spell the word "tragedy" for their Romeo and Juliet assignment.

Last year's collection

[littlemizzlinguistics]

Studying linguistics is actually so wonderful because when you explain youth slang to older professors, instead of complaining about how "your generation can't speak right/ you're butchering the language" they light up and go “really? That’s so wonderful! What an innovative construction! Isn't language wonderful?"

[prokopetz]

The worst thing about formal English is that it offers these wonderful suffixes, then only lets you use them in prescribed circumstances. I should be able to describe things as meatful or leftly or falsewise without departing from the formal register if I darn well please.

[thunderlina]

In the wake of the TikTok ban and revival as a mouthpiece for fascist propaganda, as well as the downfall of Twitter and Facebook/Facebook-owned platforms to the same evils, I think now is a better time than ever to say LEARN HTML!!! FREE YOURSELVES FROM THE SHACKLES OF MAJOR SOCIAL MEDIA PLATFORMS AND EMBRACE THE INDIE WEB!!!

You can host a website on Neocities for free as long as it's under 1GB (which is a LOT more than it sounds like let me tell you) but if that's not enough you can get 50GB of space (and a variety of other perks) for only $5 a month.

And if you can't/don't want to pay for the extra space, sites like File Garden and Catbox let you host files for free that you can easily link into NeoCities pages (I do this to host videos on mine!) (It also lets you share files NeoCities wouldn't let you upload for free anyways, this is how I upload the .zip files for my 3DS themes on my site.)

Don't know how to write HTML/CSS? No problem. W3schools is an invaluable resource with free lessons on HTML, CSS, JavaScript, PHP, and a whole slew of other programming languages, both for web development and otherwise.

Want a more traditional social media experience? SpaceHey is a platform that mimics the experience of 2000s MySpace

Struggling to find independent web pages that cater to your interests via major search engines? I've got you covered. Marginalia and Wiby are search engines that specifically prioritize non-commercial content. Marginalia also has filters that let you search for more specific categories of website, like wikis, blogs, academia, forums, and vintage sites.

Maybe you wanna log off the modern internet landscape altogether and step back into the pre-social media web altogether, well, Protoweb lets you do just that. It's a proxy service for older browsers (or really just any browser that supports HTTP, but that's mostly old browsers now anyways) that lets you visit restored snapshots of vintage websites.

Protoweb has a lot of Geocities content archived, but if you're interested in that you can find even more old Geocities sites over on the Geocities Gallery

And really this is just general tip-of-the-iceberg stuff. If you dig a little deeper you can find loads more interesting stuff out there. The internet doesn't have to be a miserable place full of nothing but doomposting and targeted ads. The first step to making it less miserable is for YOU, yes YOU, to quit spending all your time on it looking at the handful of miserable websites big tech wants you to spend all your time on.

[rwby-encrusted-blog]

Being neurodivergent is just having a Demicolon attached to every single sentence that comes out of your mouth.

For those who don't know what a Demicolon is:

[fox-and-the-hound]

What if Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy swapped cutie-marks, but their personalities stayed the same?

[squareofshape]

i don't care how neat a program is or how much it might improve my life. if it sneaks its way into my computer on top of a regular software update like some kind of fucking digital deer tick, it's a delete on sight. kill kill kill. nobody but ME decides what programs get installed on MY computer. fuck all the way off

[bananapeeeeellssss]

I see your Bruce Wayne is dating Batman rumors and raise you this:

Everyone knows that Bruce Wayne is dating Batman. Everyone knows that Jason Todd is Red Hood. Everyone knows that Jason Todd is Bruce Wayne’s dead son. Everyone knows Red Hood hates Batman. This is all a very open secret. Everyone knows Tim Drake and Red Robin have a very public beef with one another. And that Red Hood used to have a very public (but much more violent) beef with the third Robin.

This leads to the general accepted truth being that Red Hood hates Batman because he is fucking his dad, and Tim Drake and Red Robin dislike each other because Tim’s brother beat up Red Robin, and, once again, Red Robin’s dad is fucking Tim’s. Everyone feels a little bad for Red Robin, being at the end of both Red Hood’s and Tim Drake’s distaste, because the former is a crime lord and the latter is Timothy Jackson Drake.

This, naturally, reaches the JL whom does not know Batman’s identity yet. Green Arrow makes a passing comment about having also fucked Wayne, which Batman overhears. Cue absolute bat confusion, which he does not show. And that was how the great Batman found out that he accidentally 100% enforced the rumors that he was dating himself by the way he replied to reporters strange questions that in hindsight were so incredibly obvious.

This whole time, Young Justice is having the time of their lives (while also becoming increasingly concerned) as they watch Tim switch between devices as he replies to himself on different accounts on Twitter to further his own feud with Red Robin.

And Jason is. Not sure how he feels. On one hand, Bruce is now very uncomfortable about many, many things. And people yell at Batman when he starts treating Jason like his son (especially when he yells “I’m not your son!” Because what kind of boyfriend would try to make their boyfriend’s kid their own when they clearly don’t want to be). That’s an upside. But on the other, this implies that he is Bruce’s son. And that brings up a lot of feelings he doesn’t want to deal with. And back on that first hand, people have mostly stopped making thirst traps of his dad (gross). And on the second once more, they have started shipping Red Robin and Tim.

And the others are just sitting back and enjoying the ride (they are absolutely a part of this, but I’m too lazy to type out and come up with ideas for the rest)

[mostly-funnytwittertweets]

[smallidarityfan]

bro let the thoughts win

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Continuation to This Post :]

------

It was always so strange to hear adults argue.

Grown up fights never seemed quite the same as the trivial spats her and Dipper sometimes had. They were similar in some aspects, yes; Adults and children weren't as different as people liked to think. Mabel had seen adults verbally lash at one another with vicious words just as low hanging and petty as the ones she'd sometimes see kids the same age as her use. Adults arguing was essentially just a louder, angrier version of children fights.

And yet, there was somehow... more to it. Grown up arguments always seemed to weigh so much heavier in the air, and for so much longer than she'd ever thought possible.

Sometimes, the weight would leave quick and early, practically gone by the next morning. However, occasionally, the weight would stay; and grow heavier, and heavier over the years. Until it came to a point when the weight was nothing but a choking, stifling presence that seemed to fill every room in the house and buzz deafeningly in your ears like an unpleasant static that made your head pound.

Then, one day, the pressure would burst with a loud yell, a slam, and a bang, and start building up all over again. It was a cycle Mabel was much familiar with.

Her Grunkle Ford's "Mystery Shack" didn't have that air.

The shack's air smelled like burnt out candles and cheap discount Halloween fake blood, with a hint of real blood underneath the stinging scent of old wood and aged parchment. It wasn't necessarily a very nice air, certainly not in any way the fresh, crisp, clean air of the streets of Piedmont, but it smelled more like home than she'd ever felt back in California. It just smelled like... Grunkle Ford.

She liked her Grunkle Ford. He was super weird; with an even weirder Uncle as his roommate. He checked her and Dipper's arms and legs every morning "just in case someone broke in at night to steal a sample of their bloods"; he despised overly sweet foods (baffling, truly); and he had exactly 27 locks installed on the front and back door respectively that he could unlock all in under a minute with his really fast extra fingers. He reminded her a little of Dipper on some occasions, no matter how much the latter liked to deny the similarities (although, bar the demonic obssession).

However, last night, the air suddenly grew heavy.

Grunkle Ford had a fight.

Mabel hadn't heard it, and she hadn't seen it, but she knew there had been one. She was an expert recognizing the signs; she could always tell.

When she had awoken that late morning, the stuffy summer air had taken an even more sour note than usual, and had become a touch heavier than it should have been. Either that meant Grunkle Ford had just recently finished up a ritual, or a particularly rowdy argument had taken place; and Mabel knew that Grunkle Ford only performed his rituals between 2 to 4 AM, when he thought the twins were well asleep.

It was strange, to feel that same heavy air push down upon her temples and pound that same painful rhythm of a mounting headache as it used to do so often back when Mabel was in California. It had already happened a few times at the shack, but this one felt... heavier, than usual. She didn't think she would have to encounter the discomforting weight again this summer, away from her parents. Yet here she was. Aching.

She knew Gunkle Ford and Uncle Bill fought and bantered. With Bill being a permanent resident trapped within her Grunkle's mind, she couldn't imagine how they wouldn't. She didn't think even she could keep her cool if she had Uncle Bill as her brain roommate 24/7.

In any case, their interactions in front of the twins were mostly a mixture of exasperated resignation, or irritated tolerance, mostly from Grunkle Ford. Their occasional volleying exchanges of vitriol doused insults and words were short lived, and brief most of the time, especially when in front of the kids. They were nothing like the long, loud ones that could go on for hours back at her house in Piedmont.

Even so, there were some times when Mabel would see Grunkle Ford late in the evening, red faced and tight fisted, stomping down to the basement and disappearing into his lab there with a deafening slam of the rickety wooden door. She recognized that slam. He didn't want the twins to hear the argument.

Even if they could hear anything, what little they could glean always seemed to be only side of the argument, with Grunkle Ford yelling curses at Uncle Bill inside his head. She always did wonder what happened inside Grunkle Ford's head. Although, she wasn't sure if she wanted to know the answer. She couldn't imagine the state of the mind of someone who sometimes forgot to eat or sleep for almost a full week until someone reminded him.

The entire day passed with that same, tense air choking the atmosphere. Dipper had dragged Mabel and himself to some adventure in the forest, but it seemed to her that he was just trying to find excuses to stay out of the shack for the time being. Even he seemed to feel the unnerving heaviness of the air.

That night, underneath her sheets, Mabel pulled out the worn and well used wooden art mannequins Dipper and Grunkle Ford seemed to keen on using to summon Bill rather than their own shadows. With her trusty golden glitter pen (that she knew Uncle Bill loved despite what he claimed), she gently drew a closed eye upon the blank wooden face of the little model.

The eye opened, and she spoke:

[macksartblock]

for the women enjoyers and Beth May, based on this post lol

[the-californicationist]

i cant stop thinking about laying your head on jonathan price's furry belly after he's made you come so hard that you almost passed out, feeling him breathe in long, heady drags of his cigar, too cock-drunk to nag him about smoking in bed. and how the sheets would just barely be covering his half-hard prick, girthy and fat and soaked in both of your sticky fluids, smelling like sex and leaking all over his skin. and how he would know that you were staring at it, and he'd peel back the sheets just a little bit, letting his drooling head peek out from underneath, purposefully pulsing it right under your nose, teasing you with it, trying to get you to lick him clean. and maybe his free hand starts petting your hair, moving it out of your face, running his huge palm over your forehead just so sweetly and innocently. and maybe you lean forward a bit because, you know, it's right there, and he's being so careful with you. and maybe you barely plant a soft kiss on his tip, still wet and sensitive and swollen, and all of his salty come rubs off onto your lips like gloss, making them slip and slide as you suckle as gently as you can across his cockhead. and the sound that he makes when you finally take him into your mouth is just a perfect, gravelly purr.