#grammar is a social construct

[gluedwithgold]

Time for some LORE!

TLDR for those who don’t wanna read my wall of text: Leshy feels out of place among the old faith and believes the other bishops fear his power and don’t respect him so he makes his own cult. The others don’t like that and try to stop Leshy. Big fight ensues, four bishops injured, Leshy gets imprisoned, and the green crown gets lost in Darkwood.

Leshy, the youngest of bishops and newest edition to the Old Faith had always felt out of place- No. He KNEW he was the odd one out.

War, Pestilence, Death and Famine. They were the four horseman of the Apocalypses. They were a team. Just the four of them.

Originally, Leshy had thought the older bishops simply feared change. That they were stuck in their ways and with his domain being that of chaos, it had disrupted the balance the Old Faith had grown comfortable in .

But it was HIM they feared. They clearly feared the unpredictable powers of the green crown. They couldn't control him and it SCRAED them.

Shamura couldn't teach Leshy their traditions. Tradition was boring and Leshy wasn't one for the strict routine Shamura tried to enforce.

Narinder and Heket couldn't scare him into submission. Leshy had laughed at the idea of his older siblings trying to boss him around like he was one of their followers.

And Kallamar… We'll Kallamar had always been a coward through and through. The pathetic squid god would say what the others were too proud to admit.

There was no place for Leshy in their faith.

Since there was no place for him in the old faith, Leshy would just make his own faith! With a following of those who respected his domain. Then when his siblings saw how powerful he was they would HAVE to respect him.

Leshy isolated himself from his older siblings without warning and focused all of his efforts on making his own cult grow. The older bishops didn't pay any attention to this as they thought Leshy had finally gotten the message and was taking the teaching of the Old Faith seriously. Oh how wrong they were.

His following has always been much larger than his sibling's as Leshy was rather lax with the rules and his followers could usually do as they pleased. This made him more favorable among the mortals.

And as his following grew, so did his power.

It was only when followers started leaving the old faith to join Leshy did the other bishops realize what their youngest brother had been doing. They needed to put a stop to this before Leshy took his "New Faith" too far.

Attempting to confront Leshy was a horrible mistake. A horrible, horrible mistake.

This would be the first and hopefully last time any of the bishops would ever seen raw chaos magic in action as they witness the power of the green crown and for the first time see Leshy's eldritch form.

~~~ BATTLE AND AFTERMATH ~~~

-Kallamar was the first to be attacked by Leshy. Kali's ear's were permanently damaged by being too close to Leshy screaming while he transformed into his eldritch horror form. Kali was left deafened immediately after the attack. Leshy then flung Kali through the forest with his tail and chased a panicked Kallamar until their other siblings arrived. Kali chained the tail shortly after Heket managed to restrain Leshy for long enough.

After the battle, Kali's paranoia only grows as he believes Leshy is still watching him from the shadows. Now unable to hear, Kali is constantly looking over his shoulder and hold his weapons at the ready, much to the dismay of his followers who might get a blade pointed in their face. He does suffer from auditory hallucinations which only make the paranoia worse

-While attempting to muzzle Leshy, he grabbed Shamura in his mouth and burrowed violently through the ground until Narinder captured him. Shamura experience permanent head trauma from the attack which had also left them severely traumatized. They chained the upper body.

Shamura was left a shell of their former self. Not only from the brain damage but from the grief they feel over failing their youngest sibling. It was Shamura's job as the oldest and wisest bishop to teach their ways and they failed to reach Leshy. If they had only tried harder. Tried to understand how the chaos god saw their world. Shamura had the powers to stop any of this from happening and yet they still failed them all.

-Heket's throat was slashed open by one of Leshy's antlers while putting the collar shackle on him. This was the only attack from Leshy which was purely accidental. Heket was the first to successfully chain Leshy. She chained his neck.

Heket now has to speaks telepathically through her crown as she was muted by the attack and it pains her to try and speak. She was the sibling Leshy was closest too and his betrayal hit her hard. Was she too hard on the young god? Was she not hard enough? For the first time in her long life, Heket questions her choices. Her uncertainty manifests itself as unbridle rage as her iron grip over her cult only tightens.

-Narinder was the last bishop to arrive shortly after Shamura, he had gotten his left arm bitten off while attempting to restrain Leshy and rescue Shamura from the jaws of the rampaging worm. He chained the lower body.

After almost dying at the hands (mouth?) of Leshy, Nari has been struggling with the concept of his own mortality. The god of death himself being afraid of dying? How painfully ironic. Despite all this, Nari is the one to visit Leshy the most out of all of the siblings. The two of them, were never that close by any means but Nari will occasionally check in on the youngest god...

[desognthinking]

im fascinated what is tomb guardians au i am immediately imagining ava trying to get (very serious about her job) bea to talk to her (t4t aka tomb for tomb communication) like “it’s because you’re always on that damn guarding the tomb” and bea staring at her like “oh (relevant semi-religious curse word/deity invocation), i HAVE to fuck her”

Hi 😄  tomb guardians au is exactly that! except a little weirder, i think. Because they arent the guards stalking the graveyard they are the inhumanly stone-and-metal-but-not-really guardians themselves ☺️it's like what if beatrice had two heads and stood watch over the sealed, entombed heart of a bloodline. And ava was the new, terrible protector of a clan of craftsmen on a hilltop, buried with chambers of generations of their art. And what if they were necropolis neighbors 😳

This is one chunk previously posted and this shorter thing is set a little later, during the wedding mentioned in the first part. i think it kind of matches this ask pretty well 🥺:

Weddings are just like funerals: they’re never safe. The procession overflows from the courtyard at the mouth of the tombhouse, and nobody turns their attention to the other side of the hill. That's Ava’s job. Beatrice, perched carefully atop her roof in a long line of others she can vaguely make out, stretched across the rim of the hills, can see her sway and duck through kitestrings and tree-hung lanterns blowing in the wind as she keeps vigil. 

There’s fire, and an uncoordinated symphony of chattering accompanying music, and colored smoke that drifts up and drenches the air in pinks and yellows. The party had started at the Salviuses’ inner city tombhall, and then wound its way through the cobbled streets to settle here sometime around midday. Now the sun has cooled from its boil and the clouds are dissipating in streaks leaving swatches of color overtop the trees.

Celebration mixes with ceremony in equal parts, and Ava’s soaking it in, so she told Beatrice herself. Amidst the rush of activity at the Silvas’, she’d found her way over yesterday, dangling her human legs over a particularly stubborn branch that tipped over a brass gate, lurching under her weight towards brown grass.

“And, if you want,” she’d said quickly, “the view from atop our central mausoleum is incomparable.” Following the parched trajectory of Beatrice’s traitorous eyes, Ava had reached up to hurriedly smooth out the colorful combs that had erupted from her crown as she blurted out the offer. “You could see the dances up close.” 

She paused, as Beatrice reached out, at first hesitantly, then bravely, to gently still Ava’s hands from patting down the sharp, fiery crests. It’s okay.

(I like them.)

“We’re close enough that you could still keep a lookout for things over here.” 

Proximity, of course, was in truth the last thing that Beatrice feared would compromise her duty, and she knew that Ava knew it too. 

They sat in silence, not uncomfortably. Hot plumes, from where the days-long feast was being prepared in great earthen pots and pits on the rolling green surrounding the Silva walls, thinned out as they passed through the trees to Beatrice’s clearing. 

Whispers of stews, and meats, and spices. Beatrice felt, suddenly, terribly hungry.

“Will you ask again tomorrow?” she chanced, finally. 

Ava, bright and shocked and delighted, laughed. In her relief she nearly fell backwards off the branch, taking with her Beatrice, who had joined her on the tree.

Razor-edged fronds sprung up again from the top of her sun-warmed head. “Horrible”, she joked. 

Beatrice disagreed, and let her know.

Now, the sky is dampening, and the wedding party, in dribs and drabs, pauses to refill its cups and light its candles. In this twilight Beatrice lets herself turn to the west.

It is not easy to see, but the creature on the Silva house is there, beyond the clasp of woods, and when Beatrice meets its eyes its form unfolds in magnificent, menacing span and its unmistakable, jagged tail rises, quick and high, as in warning or challenge. 

From this far away, and half-hidden by foliage, it is impossible to make out the details of that bolted, harsh surface, but Beatrice knows how it feels under her palm, fluttering and leathery and spiny and warm, just as she knows by a glance the towering shape of the display and the exaggerated, daring, silly invitation that it extends across the space between their roofs. 

Ridiculous. 

Ava – terrifying as she extinguishes the numerous wraiths that have already sought to take advantage of the guardian transition, serious as the new caretaker of an artistic legacy, and an achingly, brilliantly quick learner of that uncommon dialect spoken by Beatrice’s house – lifts off her roof in a dramatic jump, and lands with a shaking thud that sends shivers through the ground all the way over. 

\

Help arrives so quickly that Beatrice knows said help is going to give her a hard time. 

“Mary,” she greets, relieved all the same. “Are you sure you don’t mind keeping watch?”

“Yeah, don’t worry, Shannon's got it all handled back home,” Mary traces the perimeter easily, scanning the horizon in each direction and then feeling the hollows and convexities of the tombhouse in quick reappraisal. Beatrice stands aside as she smoothly pads across the surface of what she must have judged to be possible points of weakness, tests the robustness of a couple of Beatrice’s carefully constructed defenses, then nods, satisfied. 

A great-aunt, peeking out too to watch the celebrations, looks up, sees Mary, and waves. Mary sends her a bow. 

“You know, Bea, she’s right,” she hums, finally. “It’s not too far away, and you’ve always been focused when out visiting.”

The bait is not particularly subtle, and Beatrice narrows her eyes. 

“I just don’t think it’s safe to reduce any protections during a celebration when everyone’s guards are down.” She busies herself with cleaning up the place, tightening the wards and doing some final redundant sweeps and checks. “It’d be easy for someone or something to slip through, especially with so many unfamiliar faces.”

“Mm. And you’d be distracted.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Sure.” Mary circles, then sits down, settling in and getting comfortable. She uncoils and reaches out to nudge Beatrice gently where she’s examining the shifts in some stones very conscientiously. “And I promise not to look over.”

“Mary.”

“What?” She shrugs, casually puts out a strong claw and kicks Beatrice firmly off the parapet. “Time to go-o.”

There’s a shower of stone fragments as Beatrice shakes and gathers herself to snap and snarl halfheartedly and harmlessly up at her from the ground. 

Mary looks over the edge and shakes her head, grinning. “Oh, baby girl,” she tsks, “Don’t tell me you need me to teach you how to fuck her.”

“Mary!”

Mary’s laughter echoes as Beatrice turns and steals into the darkness, necks hot with embarrassment. “Now hurry up, Beatrice,” her call seeps, howling, into the roots. It warps with the topography of the earth into something deep and old, sinking its frigid teeth into Beatrice’s bones. But the shape of the wind whipping past Beatrice’s ears is fond and teasing in its turbulence as she tears through the thicket. “Your poor girl’s waiting for you.”

[skeletonmancer]

i gotta stop complaining because i don't want to be overly judgy but i feel like my standards for fic have gotten so high 😭 like whyyy is your dialogue out of touch with the characters whyyy does your writing go from long and complex to stilted and casual whyyyy are you not using apostrophes aughhhhhhh

[blood-orange-juice]

Starting to think that the use of "we" in academic texts is a form of bedside plural ("how are we today?").

[earlgraytay]

God, there really is nothing like 20s detective fiction to remind you that prejudice is a social construct.

You'll have a story with a crossdressing thief which is mildly transmisogynistic but completely devoid of modern vitriol; it literally comes off as "here is a fun oddity that lets me be Clever about French grammar"

And in the very next story you will learn fifteen different slurs for Italians

[transmutationisms]

grug need big breasted and wide hipped mother to bear and feed grug’s large children

ok im not like, calling you out here but i do think these types of jokes about 'cavemen' have long been based in racist & colonialist anthropological/ethnological notions of 'primitive' peoples who represent an unevolved, simplistic version of humanity & that includes the 'grug' thing on here and also every iteration of the 'broken caveman grammar' joke. and i think people perceive these jokes as acceptable because their idea of a 'caveman' is like, prehistoric peoples who have literally been dead for 50,000 years. but these sorts of comparisons and judgments of which people and social characteristics are 'civilised' or 'advanced', along with the idea that the uncivilised ones are funny or stupid or whatever, are very much still present in discursive constructions of indigenous peoples, colonised populations, racialised people, &c so i do actually think it's fucked that these jokes are still considered neutral and not harmful. but anyway i do understand the point you were making and yes that is how evolutionary psychology types talk about gender and try to essentialise reproductive roles. now like, unpack the implications of those academic discourses relying on the notion of a primitive prehistoric Male(TM) who is completely at the mercy of his own base biological instincts to reproduce/fuck, and how that relates to, again, current beliefs in hierarchies of 'civilisation' or 'social advancement' &c &c

[pokemonshelterstories]

Have you heard the studies about Koko the Slaking? I grew up thinking they could teach a Pokemon how to talk, but recently I saw in Mewtuve a video explaining that it was just anthropomorphism and pattern recognition. What are your thoughts???

koko had a very...complicated situation. the short answer is no, koko the slaking did not learn how to speak in sign language.

almost all pokemon have, to some extent, an ability to make word associations. it's what allows us to battle alongside them successfully. some pokemon are better wired to understand human language than others. for example, ninetales' inherent psychic abilities allow it to better process human speech (studies have shown that they can understand a greater complexity of modifiers than most pokemon), and a captive chatot was able to combine words together into phrases with a very rudimentary "grammar."

slaking is unfortunately not one of those pokemon. typically, the pokemon that tend to respond best to human language experiments are the ones that have complex social structures that slaking really just lack. the only time you'll really see them together in the wild is when they're tolerating each other's presence in the fruit season. they aren't cognitively wired for complex communication because it's not particularly helpful to them.

in koko's case, i don't doubt that she was able to replicate some signs and understand some basic word associations. but it also seems that she used sign language in a fairly arbitrary way, with no indication that she understood how to construct a meaningful sentence. there's also the issue that, because slaking's movements are so slow, her interpretors would sometimes read into movements because they were anticipating certain responses.

honestly, koko's situation was tragic in a lot of ways, and unfortunately misinformation about her has done a lot ot damage to the public understanding of how pokemon communicate.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

Just had the wild realisation that I can write whatever I want here. This is a thing that I am allowed to do. I can scream into the void. I don't have to tag my posts. Grammar is a social construct. It doesn't matter who's listening. The people I love and who love me will talk to me posts or no posts. Someone's going to read this and smile. Even if it's just me.

I can watch only the finales of shows to see their happy endings. I can eat cornflakes in the afternoon. I can go into bookstores just to creepily stare at the hardcovers of Victorian literature. I can write meticulous notes for subjects I'm not studying, and highlight it to Pinterest perfection. I can tell people I want to bite them out of sheer love. I can write long emails to my friends about weird slippers that remind me of them.

I can tell you that it's been a hot year, the hottest one to date, and that April hasn't seen a single drop of rain fall onto the earth. But it's hanging in the air, making it heavy with moisture and that relentless, relentless heat. It's muggy and the swamp theme I chose for my bullet journal couldn't be more appropriate. I can tell you how I keep singing that song in my head, Corner Of My Sky, the one whose music video has Michael Sheen wrangling with an occult toaster. "The rain, the rain, the rain, thank god the rain."

I can tell you anything I like. I can tell you that I'm afraid of being forgotten, that I've always longed to be famous, that I have a hard time not caring about every single little thing. I can tell you that I'm ace and I'm afraid that no one will ever love me the way I need them too, even if I love them the way that they need me to. I can tell you the nightmares have gotten better, but they're still there, they don't seem to want to leave me. I can tell you that I'm so much more ill and broken than I dare think about. Because I am afraid that if I start thinking about it, I shan't stop, and then it will become everything. And I don't want it to be everything. I can tell you that. I can tell you that I have beautiful memories, too, not just the fear and the loss and the anger.

I can tell you that I'm a performer, an entertainer, and I love making people laugh. I'm more comfortable on stage, where people are already listening, than trying to go up and make conversation to groups of strangers. I can tell you how wonderful it feels to have been able to speak to so many people all around the world, to have them know me, to listen to me, and to listen to them in turn. I can tell you that I don't know where to draw the line sometimes, I'm never entirely sure when I'm joking, and the act easily becomes a second skin. I can tell you all of that.

I can tell you all the things that I used to tell myself in letters sealed in envelopes addressed to Future Me. And it won't matter, and it does matter, and it's all so fucking absurd. It doesn't make any sense at all. Does it? I don't know. I can tell you that I don't know very much at all. Knock knock. Who's there? No one. No one who? No one who matters. Knock knock. I haven't been able to walk around for a month. This room is an oven and I'm being slow-cooked, broiled into a little Asmi pie. I read fanfiction yesterday after a long while. That was nice. I think it's really cool that you all know me. You do know me. Sometimes better than I know myself. I can tell you that.

I can tell you the truth. I can tell you I love you. And that to be seen and to be known is a gift that I will always be grateful for. I can tell you that you don't have to listen. But if you do, then hi! Nothing makes sense. Let's sit in the nonsense for a while. I have biscuits. Would you like one? I'm very human. It's one of the things that gets me so easily hurt. Maybe it happens to you too. I can tell you that my plant Crowley is surviving, unlike the others did. I can tell you that maybe you and I are, too.

It's 8:02 in the morning. I might just eat breakfast now. It does seem like the thing to do. How weird and wonderful that is.

[uceyliyahh]

UNDER YOUR TOUCH

Summary; After her difficult breakup, Tiana wanted to start anew with her life. That's when she realized her life would be better when she met him.

This fanfic is 18+! NO MINORS ALLOWED

word count: 4306

Smut warning; it’ll come in the story randomly so PLEASE PLEASE look out for it I’m not really good at writing ✍🏽 smuts but I’m improving at the moment.

Jey Uso X Tiana

AWFUL GRAMMAR IM GETTING BETTER I SWEAR LOL.

comments, likes, repost are appreciated I would love the constructive feedback in what area I need to approve in. 🤍

ALSO! I don’t not want nobody stealing my fanfics or take it as theirs that will be an issue fasho so keep it cute respectfully.

I only own my OC along with the make up scenarios

But I’ll be writing along the way since this story is in my drafts on Wattpad right now so yuh 💁🏽‍♀️

TAGS⬇️ lmk if you wanna be tagged 🏷️ @pinkwithhearts @420days @empressdede @jstarr86 @angiedawn02 @biancasreign @bebesobrielo @celesteheartsjey @charmed-dreamssss @fearlesschimera @paigereeder @papireigns-05 @hunnidmilly @zillasvilla @skyesthebomb @aikosilo @mselenalovebug @yana3sworld @xbriexx @partypoison00

15.

TIANA I was at work doing my clients' nails, focusing on putting the gems on their nails. I smiled at my work, knowing how good I was at it. While I was doing that, I saw that my phone pinged. Jey had texted me, but he had to wait for a little bit because I was focusing on their nails.

ZaddyJey🤍 sent 2+ messages ZaddyJey🤍: mamas Trin and em want to hangout at the beach today. ZaddyJey🤍: you down?

After finishing up my clients' nails, I took a picture of them smiling in satisfaction, knowing that I'd get them right every single time. Before they left, they sent me the money on Current while also giving me a good tip.

Mamas🩷: sorry I didn't respond quickly had to finish up a client. ZaddyJey🤍: it's all good mama but are you down to go? Mamas🩷: of course, I miss my girls anyways ZaddyJey🤍: a'ight then mama I'll come pick you up. Mamas🩷: okay papi I love you. 🫶🏼 ZaddyJey🤍: I love you too ma.

I loved Jey so much. He was like my safe place, somewhere I could be comfortable. He just knew all the right things to say.

He was so perfect for me.

✧.* I finally made it home after a long day at work today. I turned off the ignition in my car as I grabbed my purse and keys. I walked up to unlock the door, went inside the house, closed it behind me while I held onto the wall, and took off my shoes in the process.

I went upstairs to my bedroom to change into my swimsuit while I waited for Jey to come pick me up. Meanwhile, I was scrolling through my social media feed, liking everyone's story or post.

Noticing that Kehlani and Malakai were posted up yet again with each other saying how much they "loved" each other, which I call total bull shit when they're just trying to get underneath me and Jey's skin, but it ain't working.

'He's so delusional and so is she.'

I remember all those times when he would just beat me and belittle me. He is probably going to be doing the same thing to her, just like how he did me.

I heard loud music playing, knowing that it was Jey because he always be playing that loud ass music to be heard. I made sure I grabbed my purse along with my keys before heading downstairs to see my man.

Opening the door, I was greeted by this fine specimen standing there looking all good, with his silver chain on and his piercings on both of his ears. God, he never fails to look good.

I hugged him, standing on my tippy toes to kiss him as he scooped me up by my thighs, placed me on his car, and got between my legs.

"You so gorgeous baby." Jey said as he squeezed my thick ass.

I was touching all over his body while he gazed down at me, causing me to look up into his eyes innocently.

"Thank you papi, you look good yourself." I replied.

"Are you ready to go? They're waiting on us, " he asked. I nodded as he put me down on the ground, and we both went inside his car.

He pulled out of the driveway and began driving away towards the beach. He gave me the aux cord so that I could play my music in his car, which I loved because he and I could vibe out together.

ᴺᴼᵂᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Matt Champion Fangs

He and I were vibing out to the song while his hand was on my thigh, focusing on the road as I pulled a pre-roll blunt out of my purse and lit it up.

I gave it a few puffs before giving it to Jey, letting him hit the blunt. Then, I sat back in my seat, listening to the song.

"I wanna count the freckles on your face" "Rearrange 'em, put 'em in the same place" I'm obsessed, I'm obsessed, I'm obsessed

I turned my head, admiring Jey's features. He was so handsome and so fine. How lucky am I to have him in my life right now?

If I hadn't met him, I probably would've been dealing with Malakai, honestly, like I'm so smitten with him. He passed me back the blunt as I continued to take a few more puffs out of it.

Little fangs, oh, little fangs, oh Little fangs, little fangs Little fangs, little fangs, little fangs Don't you take her fangs Little fangs, little fangs

I felt him squeeze my thigh with his hand while staring at me, looking into my features just like I was doing. We stopped at a red light as he leaned in closer to me, placing his lips on mine and grabbing my throat in the process.

We had a mini make-out session before the light could turn green. He couldn't keep his hands to himself.

Now move it left right left Gone take it back a couple steps Hands on your hips all night Hold my hand til it feels right Beat that left right left

I felt his hand snake underneath my pussy, rubbing it as I twitch a bit from his touch, feeling him smirk. I began going inside his trunks, stroking him up and down since he wanted to play.

He pulled away from the kiss as he saw that the light had turned green and began driving while I kept stroking him.

Gone take it back couple steps Hands on your hips all night Hold my hand till it feels right

SMUT WARNING He pulled down his trunks, giving me more access to him as I moved my hair to the side, placing my lips on his sensitive tip, hearing a moan escape his lips.

I was bobbing my head up and down on his dick, along with me stroking it, seeing him losing focus on the road for a bit.

I gazed up at him, seeing him gazing down at me, then back up at the road. I smiled at him as I continued to go down on him.

"S-shit mama..." Jey moaned as he rubbed against his beard with his available hand.

I swirled my tongue on his sensitive tip, tasting his pre-cum on my tongue as my drool was coming down my hand to his dick, covering it up.

I removed my lips from his dick as I stroked his dick up and down while gazing up at him smiling.

He found it, assuming that I was smiling at him like this.

"You like this papi? Me stroking you up and down?" I cooed at him.

Yeah, I picture you suckin' it on the sofa Eyes rolled back, somethin' like a coma Pick you up, ride around to my favorite albums Hit me up, cut me off, who be next?

"Fuck yes, mama...looking fine as hell." He managed to rasp.

I placed my mouth onto his pretty tip again as he threw his head back, moaning and groaning, trying to focus on the road.

My face felt flushed as I felt his dick twitching inside of my mouth, seeing him clenching his thighs tightly.

As I was deep-throating his dick, I felt tears coming down my face while his tip hit the back of my throat, causing me to gag on him.

"Keep goin', Mama, make me nut...fuck." I saw him gripping the wheel tightly.

When we text, freeze frame Grab your hand, freeze frame Tell me how you feel (tell me how you feel) Never feel real (never feel real)

His moans were heard all over the car as I continued to suck his tip, trying the manage the burning sensation that I was feeling in my jaw.

How was I supposed to know Ow-oh, that you only wanted me tonight?

After a while, he let out a loud groan while cumming all inside of my mouth as I pulled out, hearing that pop coming from my mouth.

SMUT OVER

I wiped the corner of my mouth, seeing his tatted chest heaving up and down as he looked at me, and I smiled at him.

"Damn, girl, yo' ass finna make me crash the damn car sucking me up like that." He said.

I chuckled at him while pulling up the camera on my phone to make sure I looked good so the girls wouldn't suspect anything.

Little fangs, oh, little fangs, oh Little fangs, little fangs Little fangs, little fangs, little fangs Don't you take her fangs Little fangs, little fangs

✧.* We finally made it to the beach; as we got out of the car, we saw the girls and guys lying down on their towels, enjoying the vitamin D.

They saw Jey and me coming towards them, and Trinity and Bianca approached me, hugging me while the guys were dabbing it up.

"Girl, why is yo' face so flushed?" Bianca asked as I got quiet as she knew hitting me in my arm.

I winched in pain while doing the same thing to her. "Ouch! The fuck B." She rolled her eyes at me while putting her hands on her hips.

"Girl, don't do that, yall is nasty, bro." She said.

"What happened?" Trinity asked.

"This girl gave her man head before they got here." Trinity covered her ears, not wanting to hear it knowing damn well she was doing that with Jonathan's ass.

We laughed with each other as we admired the guys playing and fighting with each other while we walked toward the fine specimens.

They saw us walking towards them as Jey walked up towards me, putting me in a position of a fucking Samoan drop as he ran us towards the water. Trying to fight him off of me, knowing that he was stronger than me as the Samoan dropped me into the water.

I came up from the water, seeing Jey laughing at me as I ran towards him, pushing him back into the waving waters.

"Oh my gosh, Josh, you're so childish!" I shouted as he continued to laugh at me.

Now move it left right left Gone take it back a couple steps Hands on your hips all night Hold my hand til it feels right Beat that left right left

He threw his hands up in defense, acting all innocent like he didn't just drop my ass in the damn ocean water.

I ran over to him, choking him from behind and climbing on his back like I'm such a type of monkey while he spun me around, causing me to scream, telling me to stop.

Gone take it back couple steps Hands on your hips all night Hold my hand till it feels right

He stopped spinning me around and held onto him tightly, feeling dizzy as he gazed up at me, chuckling.

"You done attempting to choke me out?" Jey asked as I nodded my head as he carried us back to Trinity and em.

Put yo hands up if ya ever been in love I know I hate it, I hate it as much as you, oh, oh Baby put your hands up if ya ever, if ya ever If ya ever been in, in love

I got off of him while sitting down on the towel, wrapping myself in the available towel, feeling cold already. Bianca and Trin came to sit next to me, seeing me wrapped up in a towel.

"Girl I know you ain't cold right now." Bianca questioned me.

"Yes, I am like very cold B." I said.

"Anyways, when are you and Jey gonna get married, girl?" She asked.

Everyone has been asking us the same question: When are we going to get married? Like I said before, I don't want to rush into marriage yet, and I know Jey doesn't want to rush into that either.

Again, I am very confident that Jey will be my husband and that I will have his babies.

"Guysss, I told yall ion wanna rush into that and Jey doesn't either." I said.

"Are you scared T?" Trinity asked.

I shook my head. "No, I just want it to be a disaster, and then we get divorced afterward. Ion wants that. I am confident enough to say I'll be his wife soon." They both nodded their heads as we watched the fine specimen playing around.

While we were watching them, I saw a familiar face, two familiar faces walking down the beach, holding hands. When I could make out the faces, I just knew that it was that bitch Malakai and Kehlani holding hands.

I scoffed as I tapped on Bianca pointing at them. "What the fuck?" Trinity started to catch on as her face scrunched up, seeing Kai and Kehlani.

"The fuck are they doing here?" Trinity said as she saw the couple.

"I don't know but I hope they don't start up no shit." I said as I folded my arms.

They made eye contact with us, smirking, and I rolled my eyes when I saw them coming up to us.

We all stood us as we folded our arms at them.

"Look who we have here, baby; it's Tiana and her little dogs." Kehlani said.

Our faces scrunched up while looking at each other and then back at them.

"Dogs? Girl, bye, don't fucking play with me." I said.

"Whatever I know, you're very devastated that I am with your ex now." I laughed at her loudly while placing my hands on my hips.

I could sense that her energy was off after I realized that Malakai was holding her back. They really had the nerve to show up here, trying to start something.

"For your information I am honestly happy with Jey I'm glad I can make him happy unlike someone." That's what set her off. She tried to come at me, but he managed to hold her back.

We saw the guys coming back, trying to see what was happening right now.

"Do we have a problem here?" Jey spoke in a husky tone, startling Malakai and Kehlani.

They both turned around and saw him standing there behind them, with Jey folding his arms above his chest.

He came over to me, wrapped his hand around my waist, and kissed me on the cheek. I could see that Kai felt triggered in some way.

"If there aren't any problems, y'all can leave." He said.

"You know what fuck you, Jey. I can't believe that you're with this bitch!" Kehlani yelled.

"Watch yo' mouth, Lani." I walked up in her face, giving her a push.

She tumbled a bit before getting in my face. But I stood my ground, not being scared of when she knew that I'll fuck her up.

Jey held me back as I went behind him, hearing her scoffing. "Yeah, go behind him you won't do shit." And that set me off as I pushed her harshly on the ground, getting on top of her and beating her head in.

I got really tired of her shit while I was bashing her head onto the ground, slapping her across the face. Meanwhile, Jey scooped me up by my waist while Malakai came to her aid.

"Mama, she isn't worth it. I told you not to waste your energy on her, okay?" Jey reassured me as I nodded my head.

"Tiana bro, what the fuck yo—I don't fucking care, Kai! I really don't, and you're going against your restraining order by messing with me. Leave me alone! Let me be happy for once, Kai! For once!" I cut him off before he could say anything.

"Nah, you had your stupid ass friends take you away from me all because I'd "abused you," Malakai said, throwing quotes, trying to gaslight me.

JEY I could see Tiana's energy shift, knowing that something like this was triggering her right now. Hearing them two going back and forth.

"No! Don't try to gaslight me nigga. You abused me and almost put me in the hospital! And my so-called "stupid." ass friends helped me get away from you to start somewhere fresh!" Tiana continued as I've seen tears coming down her cheeks.

I came up towards her, wrapping my arms around her waist, trying to calm her down.

"All those times, all of those haunting memories of you beating me, cheating on me. Making my life a living hell, wondering if someone would love somebody like me."

"and then your stupid ass parents are more delusional about it than you're, and it's sickening to my stomach, so please—-leave me the fuck alone."

It was silent as we all heard her muffled cries, and it just broke my heart to see her like this while dealing with this.

"Wow, I can't believe that you're playing the victim here after all I did for you." He said, scoffing when she heard that she was out of my grip, slapping him across the face hard.

Malakai held his face while looking at Tiana like she was crazy. Before he could do anything to her, I stepped up, pulled her behind me, and gazed up at the ol' boy.

"Yo' ass might wanna rethink your choices fuck boy." I said in a husky tone.

"Man fuck you, Jey? Is that what they call you?—yeah fuck you, she'll come to her senses."

"Nah, she's good where's at with me, unlike yo' ass having sloppy seconds over there." I pointed directly at Kehlani as she looked offended by my statement.

Bianca held Tiana's hand, pulling her away so they could comfort her while I defended her. I was so tired of his ass showing up and trying to degrade Tiana like she wasn't a human with feelings.

'Imma defend her every chance I get.'

"Uce c'mon he ain't worth it.  I promise you he ain't." Jimmy said as I looked over at Jon and then at Tiana, who was with Bianca and Trin.

I rubbed against my beard, chuckling darkly, "Nah uce you right, his ain't worth it c'mon let's go before I crash the fuck out." Grabbing everything that we had brought from the car.

✧.* We finally made it to Tiana's crib, seeing Bianca and Montez's car parked in the driveway. As we got out of the car together, I could tell that Tiana's energy was off.

She unlocks the door and goes inside the house as I close it behind us. I see her bending over and taking off her shoes before heading upstairs.

I followed her towards her bedroom, seeing her take off her clothes in front of me, knowing how am I with her doing that, especially right in front of me.

Seeing her pick out some fresh clothing to sleep in, I went behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist before scooping her up. Making her straddled on my lap naked.

Gazing up at her, I saw that her beautiful deer eyes were puffy from all of the crying she was doing. I caressed my thumb on her cheek gently. She held onto my hand while I did that, calming her nerves just a little bit.

Pulling her in a kiss as my lips were onto her thick ones.

"Let me know what's up mama. What's on your mind, baby?" I asked, placing my hands on her hips.

"A lot, Josh; it's a lot, " she said while looking down at her fingers and picking at them.

I grabbed her by the chin, making her look up at me so we could maintain eye contact. I could see in her eyes that she was tired mentally.

"You don't have to hide it in, princess; I'm right here, love." I grabbed her hand, kissing it softly.

Tiana began being vulnerable and honest with me, just explaining how she was feeling right now, feeling like she wasn't enough or too much to handle due to her being with his bitch ass.

It just made my heart hurt hearing her talk down on herself like this when she's the most beautiful woman I've ever been with. Everything about her is just perfect. This is something that god wanted me to have.

Before she finishes her sentence, I firmly grasp her by the throat, placing my soft lips onto hers and slipping my tongue inside her mouth.

Feeling myself getting hard underneath her, I maintain my composure gripping her thick ass firmly.

"You're—" between the kiss "enough—" feeling our tongues dancing around each other. "—baby" pulling away from the kiss as she gaze down at me.

She was playing in my mullet as I placed soft kisses on her neck, making her feel loved because that was all she needed.

I grabbed her breast, circling my tongue around the nipple as she moaned softly, feeling her grinding onto my lap.

I sat up while holding her tight as I removed my trunks, throwing them on the ground and making her sit down on my hardened dick.

"Josh?" She called me.

"What's up, mama? Let Daddy know what he can do to see that pretty smile of yours." I said while maintaining eye contact with her.

"Can you shower me with love and affection, please, Daddy?" Hearing her saying it so innocently just made me want to bend her ass over on this bed and fuck her brains out.

Nodding my head while rubbing against my beard. "Yeah mamas daddy's got'chu now c'mere." pinning her onto the bed kissing her all over her body.

SMUT WARNING

"Ouuu fuck Josh." Jey had her on the edge of the bed in back-shots beating her shit in while he gripped her hips tightly.

Her back was arched perfectly, only for him to see his view of her ass. Thrusting his hips deeply into her wet cunt.

He grabbed a whole load of her hair, making her back more arched than it already is as he fucked her deeply.

"S-shit! J-Josh!" She moaned while placing her hand on his stomach, trying to slow him down, but he grabbed her arm, putting it behind her back as he continued to pound into her.

"Mhm, take it mama, take this fucking dick." Jey rasped.

Pushing his dick deeply inside of her while she had her eyes rolling in the back of her head at the sensation that she was feeling.

Her walls clenched around his dick, hearing a groan escape from his lips, slapping her on her ass.

"Open up to me, mama...let Daddy stretch his pussy out." She loosened up for him as she felt him circling his hips, hitting her spot every single chance he got.

It felt like she was on cloud nine, feeling her breast jiggling to his movements. Skins were slapping against each other, which sounded the entire room.

Moans and groans were heard all over the room as he let go of her hair, replacing his hand in front of her throat.

"Throw that ass back on me, mama, make daddy nut." He whispered in her ear as she did what she was told to do.

Throwing her ass back onto him as he looked down, seeing his dick going in and out of her gushy insides, satisfied. Slapping her ass in the process.

He placed both of his hands in front of her throat, pounding into her vigorously to match her movements as she began to moan loudly.

Feeling the pressure of him constantly hitting her spot.

"Joshhhhh...." She whined as she felt a familiar pit going down her stomach.

he threw his head back In pleasure, biting down his bottom lip and looking how miserable she was.

"Is this—" smacks her ass, "daddy's pussy—" does it again. "Mamas?" She felt tears running down her cheeks while nodding her head, but that's the answer he wanted to hear.

He wanted her to say it, gripping the front of her throat a little more, not trying to hurt her.

"Use your words, baby."

"Y-yes! It's yours, Daddy! All yours!" she screamed like it was her last chance. Jey smirked, satisfied with her answer.

He could tell that her facial expressions were turning up, knowing that she was about to cum all over him, giving him the opportunity to thrust his hips deeper, making her feel every inch of him.

"Gimme' that shit, mama, nut all over daddy's dick." He encouraged her, talking her through it as she rolled her eyes in the back of her head.

Feeling her legs and body shake underneath him while he gave her punishing strokes that were only getting slower and sloppier with each thrust he gave.

Tiana let out a loud moan as she squirted all over Jey's dick, feeling it trickle down her leg, feeling defeated by him.

She tried pushing him away again due to the sensitivity that she was feeling after having a crazy orgasm, but he smacked her hands away, only making matters worse.

"I'm finna nut all in this pussy mama this good ass pussy fuck." After a few more deep strokes, Jey filled her up with his warm seeds, letting out a satisfying groan escaping his lips.

Pulling out and seeing his nut mixed with hers dripping out of her.

SMUT OVER.

Her body was shaking violently as I kissed her on her ass towards her back to calm her down, rubbing against her thighs.

"Fuck, Jey..." she mewled weakly, gazing down at him as he hovered over her making her feel small.

"I know, mama, I know. C'mon, let's go take a nice warm bath together, love." I said softly as I scooped her up in my arms, carrying her to her bathroom and shutting the door behind us.

Under Your Touch.

uceyjucey, biancabelairwwe, zillafatu and others liked your post.

tianasworld: away from all of the drama. 🧘🏻‍♀️

uceyjucey: faax mama tianasworld: @ uceyjucey 🤍 biancabelairwwe: I just love spending time with my girls. trinity_fatu: @ biancabelairwwe yesss B zillafatu: I see you uce theyhatekaii: 🙄 tianasworld: @ theyhatekaii gtfo like please

Read all comments.

zillafatu, jonathanfatu, MontezFordWWE and others liked your post.

uceyjucey: perfect view 😩 tianasworld: I'll forever be your perfect view 🤭 uceyjucey: @ tianasworld damn right mama. zillafatu: uce when is yall comin' to visit so we could all hang out fr fr uceyjucey: @ zillafatu soon cuzzo MontezFordWWE: mannn I wanted to see some action today bro jonathanfatu: @ MontezFordWWE welp to bad.

read all comments.

A/N: sighhh I guess Kehlani and Malakai don't understand the elephant in the room huh? They're so annoying I swear.

But I hope yall enjoy the chapter lmk in the comments below.

Stay Ucey.

[haggishlyhagging]

The dichotomy between what lies inside or outside of a dwelling, and its linguistic effects, appear clearly in Jespersen's discussion of language "conflict," a situation in which speakers are bilingual. What he said about German and Scandinavian immigrants in the u.s. and the Basques of the Pyrenées is interesting for its description as well as its substance.

A difference between the language spoken by men and that spoken by women is seen in many countries where two languages are struggling for supremacy in a peaceful way—thus without any question of one nation exterminating the other or the male part of it. Among German and Scandinavian immigrants in America the men mix much more with the English-speaking population, and therefore have better opportunities, and also more occasion, to learn English than their wives, who remain more within doors. It is exactly the same among the Basques, where the school, the military service and daily business relations contribute to the extinction of Basque in favour of French, and where these factors operate much more strongly on the male than on the female population: there are families in which the wife talks Basque, while the husband does not even understand Basque and does not allow his children to learn it. [My emphases] (241)

What is being "exterminated" in such situations is whatever belongs to the women's domain; whatever is locked inside, what is not taken outside—in this case native language and culture—dies, unless extraordinary measures are taken, as in the case of the modern Basque Separatists fighting assimilation. The men who control access to the "outside world" of business and money impose their linguistic supremacy. The imposition of Norman French on the conquered English is a typical example. Within English dwellings—the women's domain—native Germanic words such as ox, sheep, lamb, and eat were used, but Norman French replaced English as the language of "worldly" (read: male) affairs.

How the two experiential domains determine the language or dialect one speaks answers at least one question posed by contemporary psycholinguistic research. On the one hand, some scholars give priority to the mother's language, which children learn and speak during their formative years. This alleged priority then seems to contradict the findings of other researchers, who point to the well-documented fact of male control of standard languages and grammars. If women are the earliest teachers of native speech, and if it is their linguistic patterns that children learn, how can one talk about "male linguistic control"? The answer should be obvious now. As long as male children remain inside, within their mother's sphere of influence, they imitate her speech. As soon as they step outside of the dwelling, however, into the world of the fathers, they must either abandon their "mother tongue" or find themselves consigned to a limited, impoverished existence beyond the home. The "question," then, isn't a question at all, but a consequence of the separate experiential spheres constructed by PUD [Patriarchal Universe of Discourse]. Aspects of the woman's sphere are restricted and contained within the world named by men. The function of language in maintaining and perpetuating patriarchal social structures and assumptions is more complex than it may at first appear, but it is also consistent across cultures.

-Julia Penelope, Speaking Freely: Unlearning the Lies of the Fathers’ Tongues

[weird-arcanefangirl]

Rainy Days

TW:signs of depression, blood(described), wounds and later chapters WILL discuss suicide and self harm. If you are triggered by these themes do not read this. I will make happier stories

I do not relate to this, and this might not be accurate. My grammar and writing abilities aren’t good, please correct me or give me constructive criticism ❤️ also, this story was !!!PERFECTED!!! with AI, I wrote it myself, everything, but because I’m German and my whole family doesn’t know much English, this is one of my only options. I have the original where I wrote it into my notebook and made notes for myself and I still have it in it’s earlier stages (I already wrote much more when I was younger, my grammar was pretty bad tho) if anyone wants proof (the notebook) I’ll release it on @toulouseradiosilence <3

enjoy!

Chapter 1: Rose

I wake up to the sound of rain pouring onto the roof. The first thing I do after lying on my side for another 5 minutes is to look at the alarm clock. The time it’s displaying is barely visible, yesterday’s meal is standing in front of it. Would you call that dinner or breakfast? It was at about 4AM, so I’m not really sure, but it also does not matter, so I shove the leftover ramenbox and cheap diet lemonade off of the bedside table. The bottle shatters on the floor, startling me. Besides the cars, rain and airplanes outside this is the first noise I’ve heard today, and probably one of the ones I will hear. I finally look at the time. 10:30 AM. I’m not late to anything, I haven’t been late to anything in months.. or years. Because there is nothing to be late to. Nobody needs me, I’m not part of this “system”. And I think that’s not as bad someone would expect. I don’t have any responsibilities whatsoever. I don’t have to take part in this society, I can do whatever I want. And I choose to lay in my bed, draw or sleep. I have food in my storage (ramen, diet lemonade/ water). Sometimes I crave foods I used to eat when I was younger, but it’s certainly not worth going to the store for. Some days I eat a lot, some I don’t eat at all. Most days, actually. Some days I don’t get out of bed and some I don’t even wake up. Others I don’t sleep. Sometimes I look at drawings or other posts on tumblr. That’s all I really do. Sometimes I think about signing up and posting my drawings, but I’m not good with social stuff and this is too social for me in many ways, so I don’t. I have to go to the toilet, which is pretty unusual for me, considering i barely drink anything. I don’t want to get up though, so I continue lying in my bed for another 20 minutes, until I feel too uncomfortable. I sit up and put my feet into the ground. Something sharp cuts into one of them. I don’t do anything; I don’t even look down to see what just hurt my foot. Another minute of just sitting there and staring goes by until I decide to check. A piece of a broken diet lemonade bottle. I stand up and shove the trash under my bed, I didn’t remove the shard. I start walking. The cut stings. I really do not care though. Dragging myself into the bathroom, I push the door open and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, but I quickly look away. I sit down onto the toilet and.. pee.. yeah, I pee. Afterwards I continue sitting on the toilet and my eyes trail along the way I was walking on, from the toilet to to the door. The door is open. I live alone. There’s a trail of blood on the floor. What? Oh. It’s my blood. Wait, yeah, of course it is. Who else’s would it be? I put my leg into the other to look at my foot. The shard is still in there. I actually kind of panic because it looks really, really bad. Almost my whole foot is cut open. And THAT is a reason to stay in bed all day (as if I wouldn’t do that anyway.. but now I have an excuse, I guess.) I limp over to my bed, but before laying down I check whether I still have some water. Luckily, I do. So I let myself fall onto the bed back first, take a chug of water and start to sleep.

Next chapter will probably release next week❤️

omg I just read through it and the amount of typos I made?? Guys pls tell me if there are mistakes this is embarrassing 💀😭

Also I hate the pace, its so fast…

[conlangery]

Do you ever start with example sentences and work backwards to figure out the grammar? Like start with a pseudo conlang just to look at? Can you recommend any linguistic nonfiction for a hobbyist? I read the art of language invention and the language construction kit but I want something that has more focus on linguistic anthropology.

Thanks in advance

I’ve personally never tried that method. A few professional conlangers have had to work with significant amounts of canon gibberish made by a writer beforehand. And I have seen experiments where one person invents gibberish and the other acts as a field worker trying to analyze it.

The issue with working that way is it’s much harder to make a consistent system. Language is a complex system with a lot of parts. Trying to construct that system to fit something pre-existing means finding some kind of consistency within essentially random noise. Building from the ground up is easier, since you can make things consistent from the start.

On the linguistic anthropology angle, I have a couple of recommendations that might interest you:

The Last Lingua Franca by Nicholas Ostler is a fantastic book about different lingua francas throughout history. It really helps understand the different social dynamics that can lead to one language becoming dominant.

Language Death by David Crystal is all about the social power dynamics that cause languages to die (or that kill them, because there can very much be intent from dominant cultures to kill off minority languages).

Those won’t necessarily help you in the construction process, but they can help you understand the social dynamics of your language’s role in your world. Plus, it’s just valuable to understand this to live in society, especially if you’re a native English speaker like me and shielded by Anglphone privilege from seeing these things.

I’m sure the community can come up with plenty of other books for you to look into.

[webcomixwastaken]

Honestly, every time I see someone insist they need AI for writing, be it for getting an idea or drafting their piece or even basic grammar my instinct is to say:

"Just... GET GOOD."

Like, have no ideas? Then read more books in ALL sorts of genres, styles, and authors. Even read different age groups (if you only read YA but are over the age of 20, I promise you there is plenty of Adult out there you will love. Find it. You deserve it.) Do the same for movies, shows, and plays. Go to festivals and exhibitions and concerts. Dabble in different hobbies to observe and talk to people, all sorts of people. EXPERIENCE LIFE, that's how you'll be inspired to write about it. Know the world and how you feel in it beyond what the internet tells you to. (Also, you'll find out that your "brilliantly unique concept" has likely been done before and that your personal life experience will be the thing that makes it genuinely unique.)

Think your writing is bad? AI can't make it good for you. AI is a shitty writer. If you want to write I assume you like to read. (If you want to write but don't like to read then you have an incredibly tough, nigh impossible road to "being a good writer" ahead of you.) Again, read as widely as you can. Fanfic alone will not help you unless you only want to write fanfic which I do know applies to a lot of people. There's a fantastic thread floating around here that explains why writing for fanfic vs writing original work for publication are very different spheres. And as someone who reads a bunch of both, the best fanfic still has structure, character development, and actual plot, very similarly to books. (This is very much my subjective opinion, but I despise "no plot only vibes" -- to me both are integral to a good read. This 100% applies to tradpub too; the social media trope-focused marketing annoys me to no end. What is your story ABOUT?? If you can't tell me I have no interest in reading it.)

Instead of taking the shortcut that is actually sending you back to the start anyway, just... GET GOOD. And you get good by BEING BAD. Compose some trite purple prose nonsense rife with cliches. Have all your characters be shameless Mary Sues. Or, as I see the most often in early writers, be pedantic and repetitive as fuck because you don't know that you're doing it yet until after a year or so you look back and go "why the hell did I talk so much about this irrelevant thing? it totally disrupted the momentum of the scene and doesn't even develop character." And then, you'll realise that you've learned how to edit! Congratulations! You must understand that AI doesn't know this. AI is just plagiarising a couple hundred thousand people. AI has no brain. Don't trust it. Don't even play with it. It is a pathetic zombie concoction that only causes damage to others and the environment. Trust YOUR BRAIN. You are SO MUCH SMARTER. You KNOW what you want and like, you have way better ideas and images you want to convey. And in time you will know how to convey them accurately and compellingly in a way that sounds like you.

And finally, AI for grammar and spelling? Hoo boy do I have some opinions. Well, just one. Which is to simply GET GOOD!!

People bitch that English is a difficult language to learn but hey! All languages have their rules and nuances, so that's merely subjective! Whatever language you want to write in, learn those rules!! Seriously, just GET GOOD!! it's doable! I do it! In fact, many people do it and have DONE SO FOR YEARS.

Honestly, I don't use ANY kind of grammar software beyond the basic spellcheck automatically built into browsers and word processors nowadays (the ones that give you wiggly lines while you're typing and even then I rarely right click to accept since I find it faster to simply retype properly) because I KNOW MY SHIT. I know how to construct sentences, use consistent tense, punctuate properly, and capitalise or italicise or utilise any other convention of the English language I wish to follow or break because this is my craft, and I know how to shape it to become what I want my work to be.

So here is where I expect people to be all like "but what if I'm NOT a native speaker of the language huh huh??" Well, you're choosing to write in this language though. Do your level best -- and here is where I will say that this grammar stuff IS the most forgivable aspect anyway. Spelling errors or janky phrasing never hurt anyone when we can tell it's coming from a place of true diligence and effort, in fact one of my favourite fanfics of all time was set a summer camp and the NATIVE ENGLISH SPEAKING author wrote "councilor" until about chapter 20 when they asked us, utterly mortified, in the notes why nobody had corrected them (because the plot and characterisation were immersive AF and felt like it came from a real person with real experiences). Some of the most poetic syntax and delightful descriptions I've come across were from people writing in not their first language, or even second or third -- children and adults alike, still learning and still TRYING because they took this shit seriously and were putting in their all.

This is the part that I personally cannot comprehend (but in a practical way I do, only because I see it EVERYWHERE) of people claiming that they just can't "get" grammar and need some brainless software running on codes and algorithms to "correct" them - don't you want to be FREE of this dependence?? Wouldn't you prefer to write KNOWING that it says what you WANT it to say instead of hoping that maybe 30% will remain after a program strips it of voice and style (and then because you're no longer paying attention, it also makes your sentences just WORSE and not "succinct" at all)?? Don't you want to be grown and confident with SKILLS instead of whining for help (which just boils to someone doing it FOR you, not actual help) all the time???????? Like seriously!! Have some self-esteem!!!!! You deserve it!!!! GET GOOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I have been teaching fiction writing as my day job for nearly a decade now and when my students fret over their sub-par skills I always ask them how old they are. Because they should know that 9 year olds aren't supposed to spell everything correctly. Instead, they're supposed to make mistakes so they can learn how to fix them. Then, they should practise and practise and practise until they're 19 and realise that the habit has developed so beautifully that they're finding it HARD to make mistakes!

And if you're 29 and still struggling, no it's not too late. The best time was to start 20 years ago but the second best is now. Writing is pretty much a lifetime gig so keep going, and GET GOOD!!

[lingthusiasm]

Lingthusiasm Episode 87: If I were an irrealis episode

Language lets us talk about things that aren't, strictly speaking, entirely real. Sometimes that's an imaginative object (is a toy sword a real sword? how about Excalibur?). Other times, it's a hypothetical situation (such as "if it rains, we'll cancel the picnic" - but neither the picnic nor the rain have happened yet. And they might never happen. But also they might!). Languages have lots of different ways of talking about different kinds of speculative events, and together they're called the irrealis.

In this episode, your hosts Gretchen McCulloch and Lauren Gawne get enthusiastic about some of our favourite examples under the irrealis umbrella. We talk about various things that we can mean by "reality", such as how existing fictional concepts, like goblins playing Macbeth, differ from newly-constructed fictions, like our new creature the Frenumblinger. We also talk about hypothetical statements using "if" (including the delightfully-named "biscuit conditionals), and using the "if I were a rich man" (Fiddler on the Roof) to "if I was a rich girl" (Gwen Stefani) continuum to track the evolution of the English subjunctive. Finally, a few of our favourite additional types of irrealis categories: the hortative, used to urge or exhort (let's go!), the optative, to express wishes and hopes (if only...), the dubitative, for when you doubt something, and the desiderative (I wish...).

Click here for a link to this episode in your podcast player of choice or read the transcript here.

Announcements:

Thank you to everyone who shared Lingthusiasm with a friend or on social media for our seventh anniversary! It was great to see what you love about Lingthusiasm and which episodes you chose to share. We hope you enjoyed the warm fuzzies!

In this month’s bonus episode, Gretchen gets enthusiastic about swearing (including rude gestures) in fiction with science fiction and fantasy authors Jo Walton and Ada Palmer, authors of the Thessaly books and Terra Ignota series, both super interesting series we've ling-nerded out about before on the show. We talk about invented swear words like "frak" and "frell", sweary lexical gaps (why don't we swear with "toe jam!"), and interpreting the nuances of regional swear words like "bloody" in fiction.

Join us on Patreon now to get access to this and 80+ other bonus episodes! You’ll also get access to the Lingthusiasm Discord server where you can chat with other language nerds.

Here are the links mentioned in the episode:

'Irrealis' entry on Wikipedia

'How do you get someone to care about Shakespeare? Two words: Goblin Macbeth' on CBC

xkcd comic 'Conditionals'

'Pedantic about biscuit conditionals' post on Language Log

'The pragmatics of biscuit conditionals' by Michael Franke

Lingthusiasm episode 'This time it gets tense - The grammar of time'

'Realis and Irrealis: Forms and concepts of the grammaticalisation of reality' by Jennifer R. Elliott

'If all the raindrops' on YouTube

'If I Were a Rich Man (song)' entry on Wikipedia

'Rich Girl (Gwen Stefani song)' entry on Wikipedia

'Louchie Lou & Michie One' entry on Wikipedia

'Louchie Lou & Michie One - Rich Girl' on YouTube

'Semi-Toned - Rich Girl (acapella)' on YouTube

'Subjunctive mood' entry on Wikipedia

'Céline Dion - Pour que tu m'aimes encore' on YouTube

WALS entry for 'Feature 73A: The Optative'

Lingthusiasm bonus episode 'How we make Lingthusiasm transcripts - Interview with Sarah Dopierala'

Lingthusiasm episode 'Listen to the imperatives episode'

'Dubitative' entry on Wikipedia

'A grammatical overview of Yolmo (Tibeto-Burman)' entry on WikiJournal of Humanities

You can listen to this episode via Lingthusiasm.com, Soundcloud, RSS, Apple Podcasts/iTunes, Spotify, YouTube, or wherever you get your podcasts. You can also download an mp3 via the Soundcloud page for offline listening.

To receive an email whenever a new episode drops, sign up for the Lingthusiasm mailing list.

You can help keep Lingthusiasm ad-free, get access to bonus content, and more perks by supporting us on Patreon.

Lingthusiasm is on Bluesky, Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, Mastodon, and Tumblr. Email us at contact [at] lingthusiasm [dot] com

Gretchen is on Bluesky as @GretchenMcC and blogs at All Things Linguistic.

Lauren is on Bluesky as @superlinguo and blogs at Superlinguo.

Lingthusiasm is created by Gretchen McCulloch and Lauren Gawne. Our senior producer is Claire Gawne, our production editor is Sarah Dopierala, our production assistant is Martha Tsutsui Billins, and our editorial assistant is Jon Kruk. Our music is ‘Ancient City’ by The Triangles.

This episode of Lingthusiasm is made available under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Share Alike license (CC 4.0 BY-NC-SA).

[gaywattpadstorykid]

Rainy Days

TW:signs of depression, blood(described), wounds and later chapters WILL discuss suicide and self harm. If you are triggered by these themes do not read this. I will make happier stories

I do not relate to this, and this might not be accurate. My grammar and writing abilities aren’t good, please correct me or give me constructive criticism ❤️ also, this story was PERFECTED!!! With AI, I wrote it myself, everything, but because I’m German and my whole family doesn’t know much English, this is one of my only options. I have the original where I wrote it into my notebook and made notes for myself and I still have it in it’s earlier stages (I already wrote much more when I was younger, my grammar was pretty bad tho) if anyone wants proof (the notebook) I’ll release it on @toulouseradiosilence <3

enjoy!

Chapter 1: Rose

I wake up to the sound of rain pouring onto the roof. The first thing I do after lying on my side for another 5 minutes is to look at the alarm clock. The time it’s displaying is barely visible, yesterday’s meal is standing in front of it. Would you call that dinner or breakfast? It was at about 4AM, so I’m not really sure, but it also does not matter, so I shove the leftover ramenbox and cheap diet lemonade off of the bedside table. The bottle shatters on the floor, startling me. Besides the cars, rain and airplanes outside this is the first noise I’ve heard today, and probably one of the ones I will hear. I finally look at the time. 10:30 AM. I’m not late to anything, I haven’t been late to anything in months.. or years. Because there is nothing to be late to. Nobody needs me, I’m not part of this “system”. And I think that’s not as bad someone would expect. I don’t have any responsibilities whatsoever. I don’t have to take part in this society, I can do whatever I want. And I choose to lay in my bed, draw or sleep. I have food in my storage (ramen, diet lemonade/ water). Sometimes I crave foods I used to eat when I was younger, but it’s certainly not worth going to the store for. Some days I eat a lot, some I don’t eat at all. Most days, actually. Some days I don’t get out of bed and some I don’t even wake up. Others I don’t sleep. Sometimes I look at drawings or other posts on tumblr. That’s all I really do. Sometimes I think about signing up and posting my drawings, but I’m not good with social stuff and this is too social for me in many ways, so I don’t. I have to go to the toilet, which is pretty unusual for me, considering i barely drink anything. I don’t want to get up though, so I continue lying in my bed for another 20 minutes, until I feel too uncomfortable. I sit up and put my feet onto the ground. Something sharps cuts into one of them. I don’t do anything; I don’t even look down to see what just hurt my foot. Another minute of just sitting there and staring goes by until I decide to check. A piece of a broken diet lemonade bottle. I stand up and shove the trash under my bed, I didn’t remove the shard. I start walking. The cut stings. I really do not care though. Dragging myself into the bathroom, I push the door open and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, but I quickly look away. I sit down onto the toilet and.. pee.. yeah, I pee. Afterwards I continue sitting on the toilet and my eyes trail along the way I was walking on, from the toilet to to the door. The door is open. I live alone. There’s a trail of blood on the floor. What? Oh. It’s my blood. Wait, yeah, of course it is. Who else’s would it be? I put my leg into the other to look at my foot. The shard is still in there. I actually kind of panic because it looks really, really bad. Almost my whole foot is cut open. And THAT is a reason to stay in bed all day (as if I wouldn’t do that anyway.. but now I have an excuse, I guess.) I limp over to my bed, but before laying down I check whether I still have some water. Luckily, I do. So I let myself fall onto the bed back first, take a chug of water and start to sleep.

Next chapter will probably release next week❤️

[the-perfect-wagnerite-again]

It's easy for me to forget that for the vast majority of overly-online midwits, the word "nazi" is literally just a signifier for "person I dislike with right-wing positions."

In a philosophy seminar I took in uni, a young woman took issue with grammar as a concept, calling it an elaborate, oppressive social construct designed to inhibit the expression of ideas and weaponized against nonwhite peoples who don't conform to it. I don't need to describe what she looked like. I responded that her take was absurd, that grammar was the form of language and that ideas were the content, and that by vocalizing her distaste with grammar, she was dependent on it as a means of organization for her own thoughts. She called me a nazi.

In that moment, was she accusing me of subscribing to the economic and social ideas espoused by a particular political party in mid-20th century Germany? Obviously not. So now whenever I see or hear someone using the word nazi, I think of that girl and how stupid she was.