#modern languages

[water-gaw]

The University of Aberdeen are proposing to withdraw all degrees in modern languages, making all their staff redundant and hiring tutors on precarious contracts instead. This is horrifying, and would make Aberdeen the only university founded pre 1500 that doesn’t offer degrees in modern languages. It’s also one of only 4 institutions globally to offer a degree in Scots Gaelic, a minority language important to Scotland’s cultural heritage. All this coming from an institution that allegedly cares about decolonisation.

Please consider signing and sharing the petition against this here https://www.change.org/p/save-language-translation-interpreting-degrees-at-the-university-of-aberdeen

I would really appreciate reblogs for this post. It is an outrageous precedent and part of a horrifying assault on the humanities in higher education. We have to fight this.

[sumerianlanguage]

Hey! I’m no expert in languages.

Assuming you know (which is why I’m asking). What do we actually call the native (key word) Semitic language of Assyrian people today?

I’ve heard it referred to by many names. Syriac, Neo-Aramaic, Assyrian, Assyrian Aramaic, Suryoyo, Turoyo, Surayt, Suret and many others.

Its all very confusing to me. Especially since I’m looking to learn the common native tongue spoken by Assyrians today (whether it’s called Syriac or whatever).

Do you know?

Sorry if this is a waste of time btw.

Hello! This may not be the answer you're looking for, but it's... all of the above.

There are two major modern languages descended from classical Aramaic, similar to how French and Spanish are descended from Latin. (Aramaic is the language that supplanted Akkadian in Mesopotamia, similar to how Akkadian supplanted Sumerian.) In the languages themselves, they are Suret and Turoyo. Suret, also called Assyrian (not to be confused with the Akkadian-speaking Assyrian Empire), Neo-Aramaic or Chaldean, is spoken in Iraq, Syria and neighboring countries. Turoyo is also called Surayt and is spoken predominantly in Syria and Turkey. Both languages also have a growing diaspora as many speakers have fled the region since the 2003 Iraq war and Syrian civil war. In addition, there are several smaller languages and dialects in the same grouping.

How we name a language is always a complicated question, and depends who's asking. If the goal is to match how the speakers themselves refer to their language, I believe (based on my reading - please correct me!) "Suret & Turoyo" is the best option, but this won't get you far in linguistics research or when looking for resources. Most languages have any of several ways to refer to them - think of how in English, German is called "German", but in German, it's "Deutsch" (not to mention "Tysk" in Danish, "Allemand" in French, etc!) And for languages with a layered and complicated history, like those of the Near and Middle East, these names can multiply manyfold.

I'm not familiar with these languages personally, so if anyone has more knowledge of these languages or how best to search for resources on them, please reblog with them below. And best of luck with your language learning!

[wonkanerds]

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[faerieconsort]

me, last semester in literature class: "well I kind of relate to raskolnikov in a lot of ways"

my professor: "you scare me..."

me, in this semester's literature class: "my Arcadian name will be Medea"

my new professor: "you scare me..."

let's see what I will do next semester to scare the next one!!!

[sukinapan]

[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?"

[polysprachig]

Okay, so I'm in trouble. I want to study Icelandic and Old Norse, but I don't know which one I should study first! Do you have any tips?

For the record, I think there are pros and cons to learning ancient languages before modern ones and vice versa. The question is, of the two, which do you feel a more pressing need to explore now? I would go for whichever one lights a fire in your veins, and adjust your learning strategy accordingly depending on the order you intent to learn them in. (:

[inertplanetary]

Linguistics and communication development my beloved ❤️

(me, my parents, my sister, and the baby are sitting at the kitchen table eating lunch)

baby, pointing at the light fixture over the table and signing "on": o.*

my sister: we actually can't turn that light on right now, because the lightbulb inside is burnt out! it needs a new one.

baby: ighbu.

sister: yes, lightbulb! granddaddy said after we eat he's going to climb up there on a ladder and change it, and then the light will come on!

baby: gadada! adda, uuu! ighbu o!

sister: exactly!

baby, signing "on" and pointing at the light and then my dad, with increasing urgency: GADADA ADDA UUUU. O.

my sister: we're going to finish eating first though, ok?

baby: nonono. O. gadada adda uuu.

[a split second goes by]

baby, pointing to himself: ba. adda uuu. ighbu.

me: you're going to climb the ladder and change the lightbulb yourself?

baby: dzyeah. *pointing to the buckle where he is buckled into the high chair* ububu.

me: unbuckle you? so you can change the lightbulb?

baby, highly businesslike: dzyeah.

*pronounced like "on" without the n

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Am I the asshole for getting my best friend killed?

I swear to God, it was an accident.

My (27) BF (34) has a reputation for getting himself out of any jam you can imagine; and at first it was just a fun little thing the friend group noticed: there goes Oily J wiggling his way out of trouble again. but as the meme evolved in the group, it got to the point where we'd loykey started getting him into situations just to see how he'd get out of 'em, and he akept getting out of em. He was having fun with it too same as us. "Oh you guys," he'd say, "getting me into situations again," before laughing it off and getting out of it, so it was enrichment for our shared enclosures, and as time went on, the situations got more intense.

The trouble is, it turns out that putting a man in too many situations eventually gets the police interested. And not local hobsknockers cops either; they was like, proper three-letter FEDs. They put out a bounty on any information pertaining to his capture and everything. It was good money too so I thought, hey why don't I put J in another situation he can wiggle out of like always (and he'd wiggled outta worse before, so I thought this one'd be relatively mild), and at the next boardgame night (cause it was too late to do anything special for this one) we can buy some extra strong booze and get absolutely blitzed while having a giggle about the situation.

Boardgame night, and we were playing some social deduction nonsense or another and he says: "One of you is gonna betray me tonight." and I can't help but think, looking back on it, that he knew. It's stupid, I know he was talking about the game, but the way he said it, it was like he knew. We all felt it, and we had a big round robin round the table taking turns promising that we'd never betray him. And I said it so easily cause I thought it was true. Sure, I was gonna talk to the feds about a bounty; but, I fully expected my big beautiful oily boy to wiggle his way out of the trouble I was 'bout to cause, and that's not a betrayal. I wasn't lying. I didn't think I was lying.

My big beautiful oily boy didn't manage to wiggle his way out of it. They killed him and I got my blood money. He's gone.

He's gone and I'm devastated, crying, mourning. I loved him so much. We all did. And I can't stop thinking that it's my fault: that I'm the reason he's gone. and it is. and the guilt is eating me up inside. and I just need to talk to someone about it. So, I tell the rest of the group what happened in the group chat, hoping they'd understand that I didn't want this. I didn't want the government's blood money. It was supposed the be a prank. some joint enclosure enrichment. He was supposed to wiggle out of it like he always does... did, i mean.

They call me, among worse things, the asshole and kick me from the group chat. And, I know it's my fault he's dead: I know that. If I didn't do what I did, he wouldn't be dead right now. But, I didn't mean it for it to end up this way. He was supposed to be okay, damn it. I loved him. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[whetstonefires]

Hey if the suffix -ard was used to designate something possessed of too much of some quality, as in drunkard, coward, mustard etc, this implies that a Spaniard is someone who is excessively from Spain.

Not just Spanish. From Spain way more than the socially acceptable amount.

[ffcrazy15]

Someone needs to do an analysis on the way the Kung Fu Panda movies use old-fashioned vs. modern language ("Panda we meet at last"/"Hey how's it going") and old-fashioned vs. modern settings (forbidden-city-esque palaces/modern-ish Chinese restaurant) to indicate class differences in their characters, and how those class differences create underlying tensions and misunderstandings.

[tangled-pixel-harpsichord]

[spyroforlife]

Alastor: And then she called me an 'ace in the hole', whatever that means

Angel: It was a joke, she's saying you're asexual

Alastor: A sexual what? I'm not sexual for ANYTHING

Angel: Yeah, I mean asexual, all one word. As in, without sexuality. You don't feel sexual attraction. We call it asexual, often shortened to ace. Ergo, you're an 'ace in the hole'

Alastor: There's actually a word for that?? Ridiculous. But points to Rosie for the cute wordplay, I suppose.

Angel: I know you aren't but if you WERE a sex-favorable asexual, well. You could be an ace in MY hole-

Alastor: (immediately bonks him with his mic)

[mockerycrow]

Love your works! May I please get a "don't worry, i'm not going anywhere." with Ghost? Take your time, I love what you write!

400 Follower Celebration

—“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”— With Ghost

Summary: You’re apart of the 141 and Ghost recently had a near-death experience. You’ve been plagued with nightmares about the situation, but you try to hide it from him, feeling selfish about your night terrors. One night, you’re thoroughly convinced Ghost had actually died.

A/N: THANK YOUUU I KEEP BLUSHING ILY AND TYSM FOR 500 FOLLOWERS

[WARNINGS: vomit, detailed nightmares, panic attack, gore, fake-death, angst, hurt/comfort.]

It was always the same nightmare. It was a repeat of that one mission months ago—nearly a year ago by now, where you and your team went to grab some important intel about a new uprising cartel that was showing some dangerous potential. It was a large compound, four floors including the basement, wide rooms with many blind-spots. Using your rifle equipped with a heat signature sensor, you swept room to room, leading your team through the building, putting anyone down who dared fired a bullet at you or your team.

You turn that familiar corner and your heart sinks. You’ve tried many times to change the course of this dream, but no matter how frantically you try to scream about what is waiting on the other side of that door, your mouth refuses to work until Ghost rumbles out, “I’ll take point.” You try to fight every muscle in your body to stop this, but it’s like the dream freezes until you continue down the.. “right path”. Quite literally is a living fucking hell for you, and there’s absolutely nothing you can do to stop it except do what it wants you to do.

“Roger.” You mutter, backing up behind Ghost instead of staying in front of him and leading him the others. The others are always blank faced soldiers in this nightmare, but you know who is who. You pat his shoulder, aimming over him as you walk down the hall close together, hugging the wall. You’ve been through this so many times, you know to eye the floor and you watch the moment happen—Ghost steps on a pressure plate and—BOOM.

You’re always forced to watch it in slow motion; the wall being blown open right next to Ghost, watching the debris scatter everywhere, scraping yourself up as well as Ghost. He raises his arm to shield his face from whatever is happening, unable to process in time that a man wielding a sharp combat knife is pulling his arm back and comes down with it.

You watch the way the knife so easily slides into his rib cage, and it’s almost like you could hear it penetrating his lung like it did—but this time, the man rips the knife out and does it again and again and again—this has never happened before—Ghost’s falling to the ground, his blood splattering everywhere, fuck, it’s like the guy is trying to gut him—but you can’t move. You have to sit there and watch this man. plunge a knife in and out of Ghost’s chest until he finally decides to stab him deep and yank downwards, spilling his intestines and stomach—yet, his lifeless eyes keep eye contact the entire time.

Your eyes fly open, dizzy from your heart pounding and unable to focus, you throw the blanket off of you and you make your way out of whatever room you’re in—you’re too freaked out to know. Your chest aches and feels like there’s a hundred tons sitting on your rib cage, restricting your breathing. You keep walking until you bump into something and you manage to focus enough to notice it’s the bathroom door. Your hand shakily grabs the doorknob and opens it, and you already feel the vomit traveling up your throat.

You end up bent over the open toilet, body heaving with every exile of the contents of your stomach, which by this time of night is mostly just bile. Your head is spinning and your hands keep shaking and by this point, you really don’t care how clean this bathroom is. You lean your elbows on the toilet rim and hold your head in your hands, trying your best to stifle a sob, even though all you can smell and feel is his blood on your fingertips. Your tears drip down your cheeks and collect at your chin before dripping off.

You keep one arm on the toilet seat to keep your head propped up and the other goes around your stomach, which is twisting painfully inside of your gut, ripping another sob from you. You gag into the toilet, but you’ve already thrown everything you had inside. Your throat and nose burns from the stomach acid, but it doesn’t compare to the emotional pain of losing Ghost. You just stood there and watched him get gutted—why do you deserve to grieve when you could have prevented it in the first place? Someone killed the Ghost, and you let it fucking happen.

A large hand sprawls across the flat of your back which is accompanied by a low, gritty voice. Whoever it is says something, but you don’t quite hear them. It’s probably Price, trying to comfort you, trying to say there’s one thing you could’ve done to stop it, but you know there was something you could do, anything you could’ve done.

Price calls your name and you go to shove him away, but his hands wrap around your wrists, and the voice is more insistent. You choke on a sob and shake your head, struggling against him until you hear it—his voice. “Fuck, [Name], can you hear me?” Ghost’s voice. It’s his voice.

No. Your mind is playing tricks on you and you won’t fall for it, you won’t let yourself go through this horrendous grief for a second time. You try to curl up into a ball, wanting to grab at your hair or your clothes, just anything but be here. “Look at me.” His hands grab your face and force your face to look at him and..

It’s him. It’s Ghost.

All of your noises stop for a moment as you stare with wide eyes that are full of unfallen tears, eyes full of grief, all for him. Ghost stares back at you with uncharacteristically wide eyes, and you can see the way his hands are slightly trembling—he’s worried about you. Ghost’s eyebrows furrow when he sees your expression of anguish. “Hey—hey, what happened?” Ghost’s voice is so quiet, like he’s afraid you’ll break if he speaks any louder. Your hands come up to his mask and touch it and you burst into a harsh sob again, throwing your arms around him.

Usually, Ghost would hesitate. He would be reluctant to reciprocate such personal touch, such desperation, but he pulls you close into his arms without a second thought. Your hands grab his shirt and you breakdown into his chest, wetting the fabric with your tears. His heart slipped a beat because he’s never seen you like this—has never seen you break down this horribly.

He’d be here when you were ready to talk about it, but for now he’ll stay to hold you until your shoulders stop shaking. Ghost moves to sit on his bottom and you whimper in fear, like he’ll leave. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

[gemsofgreece]

The Ancient Greek word for ship was ναῦς. The word is borderline obsolete in Modern Greek, except the majority of seafaring terms actually derive from it.

For example,

ναύτης (náftis) = sailor

ναυτικό (naftikó) = navy <- that’s where the English word originates too

ναυπηγείο (nafpiyío) = shipyard

ναύλα (návla) = ticket for a mode of transportation, especially ships

The common Modern Greek terms for ship are πλοίο (plío) and καράβι (karávi).

Πλοίο comes from the verb πλέω (pléo) which means “float and sail” and it is also etymologically Greek.

I mostly make this post for καράβι which I was convinced to this day that it was a loanword, perhaps from Turkish or Latin.

Today I learned that καράβι too is etymologically Greek, from Koine Greek καράβιον (karávion), from Ancient Greek κάραβος (kárabhos) which meant “prawn”.

A little stupid of me because even the modern Greek word for prawn is καραβίς (karavís) or more commonly now καραβίδα (karavíða) but somehow I never made the connection.

So once again Greeks had the exact word for ship but at some point in time they went nah fook that from now on we gonna call ships

✨Prawn-ions✨

[leisureflame]

THOU, THEE, THY, THINE. SAME THING RIGHT?

NO.

Although they seem very similar, Shakespeare would be in tears if he saw how most people mix them up. lets save William the misery and teach you when to correctly use thou, thy, and thine.

THOU

Thou = You (in subject form)

"Thou art killing me." "Art Thou crying?"

THEE

Thee = You (in object form)

"I want to kill thee." "My dog ate thee in my dream."

THY

Thy = Your (before a word that starts with a consonant)

"Thy mother." "Give me thy duck."

Thyself is used the same as any other thy+word combination like "thy mother" but without a space

"Take care of thyself."

THINE

Thine = Your (before a word that starts with a vowel)

"Thou art on thine own." "Thine answer hath satisfied mine query."

OR

Thine = Yours

“This is thine.” “The throne is thine, should thou choose to take it.”

(last 2 examples by @bookishwenchmeltha)

Now Shakespeare can truly rest in peace.

Go follow me @leisureflame for more posts like this!