#THEYRE VERBS!!!!!

[ratsbypaulzindel]

i really get and like the idea of those jokes like “don’t use the wrong pronouns on me or i’ll turn your pronouns into was/were” but (assuming they mean going from “they are” to “they were”) those are verbs. i’m sorry those are verbs :-(

#I GET THE POINT I AGREE WITH THE POINT. BUT I ALSO KNOW WHAT THEYRE GOING FOR AND IN THIS CASE WAS AND WERE ARENY PRONOUNS #THEYRE VERBS!!!!! #although ☝️ neopronouns was/were goes hard as a concept i won’t lie #vel.txt

[cuubism]

i said i might write something based on Sonnet XVII by Pablo Neruda and well. yeah.

--

“Have you been thinking much of this time?” Dream asks.

They are at the beginning. The ancient, smoky main room of the White Horse, all the way back then, when that sweet, starlit entity had loomed over Hob with challenge and strangeness and then swept away again, leaving the start of a story in his wake. Only this time, Dream is sitting with him, and the rest of the room is faded out, as it had when Hob had first seen him, this collected truth of the universe.

(Dream does not believe in objective truth—of course he doesn’t, he is made of dreams—though he would not articulate it that way if asked. Hob, meanwhile, knows at least one truth, and it’s what he feels when he looks at Dream.)

“Don’t you think of it?” he asks, wrapping an arm around Dream’s waist, fingers over his hipbone. It is a dream, but that distinction does not matter to Hob much anymore.

“I suppose. I think of much.”

“‘Course you do.” He strokes his hand up and down Dream’s side, and Dream hums. “I wondered about following you. Think if I did you’d have been gone into smoke already.”

“Yes. I did not care to stay long.”

“Nor I,” Hob admits.

“Truly?” says Dream, with surprise.

“Was thinking about you too much,” Hob says. “How could I go back to just chatting with my mates when I had seen you?”

“Why did you stay, then?”

“You have to take time with your mates while you have it,” Hob says. “Didn’t need six hundred years of life to know that one. Just a couple dozen deaths. Had the rest of eternity to mull over you, after all.”

“And did you?” Dream asks.

“Oh, yes.” He pulls Dream close. Slides over until he’s half in his lap, straddling his thigh, perfectly placed to kiss him. Hands on his shoulders, his neck, the sharp cut of his jaw. Once, Hob had held him from afar, like a wish. Now, Hob holds him close, as dream, as friend, as lover, in his human way, with sweat and time and hands.

“I mulled over you like fine wine,” Hob says, twisting his fingers in Dream’s hair, and Dream smiles. Hob kisses him again. Sips of his mouth like mulled wine, indeed. But his love for Dream is nothing so fleeting as spice on his tongue.

Or as fleeting as Dream sometimes thinks it will be. Dream is a living love poem to creation. But he does not know how to be loved in the way Hob wants to love him. In the way Hob does love him. Hob thinks that Dream knows how to be loved as a dream is loved, as a hope is loved, as an ideal is loved: held in glass, or in the sky, distant, perfect, disappointing up close. Parts of him are held as bubbles in different souls, but never in entirety.

He knows how to be loved as a nightmare is loved, bloody fear and history, raw closeness, curling in the humors of the body. He has been loved as a story is loved, which is to say, as creation is loved, as transmission is loved, as distance, as connection, as hearts on radio waves, as endings are loved, the pathways of him, container and fill.

Dream does not know how to be loved as a person is loved.

Hob loves him still when he grows teeth, and when a sweet taste comes to his mouth. Hob loves him as potential, as uncertainty. Story unset in stone. In softening belly and uneven step. Hob will show him how to be loved as a person is loved, because Dream is a person, especially when he insists he is not, and Hob loves him as one, has loved him as one, and Dream, who is used to being loved as dreams, cannot comprehend this.

He asks, sometimes. Why? Not even in a hurt, self-hating way. In a genuinely curious way, for he is not used to it. Hob hasn’t had the answer to that. Just trust that I do.

This moment, kissing Dream in the smoke of memory, is an answer. This is the beginning, but a fragment of words comes back to him, read in the between-time, when they were apart.

“You wanted to know why I loved you.” His lips are to Dream’s skin as he speaks, moved to his throat, his chest, pulling open his high collar, as Dream shivers under him. In the Dreaming, things can be like other things in a way that makes no sense in the Waking; Dreaming-sense is like a collage, the distant truth of collected fragments. And so touching Dream’s skin is like stepping out into the earliest morning, before the human world’s woken up, and feeling what’s un-meant to be felt.

“I do not think love needs a why,” Dream says. “Yet I have wondered.”

He gets it, Hob thinks, except that he doesn’t let himself.

He traces the harsh line of Dream’s collarbone with his mouth. Dream is full of harsh lines and seems incapable of letting softness stick to his bones. “‘I love you because I know no other way than this.’”

“I am familiar with the poem,” Dream says, but his voice is caught on Hob's words, his long fingers disbelieving in Hob’s hair.

“Are you?”

“Between shadow and soul is where dreams reside,” says Dream.

“And what about Dream?” Hob says, looking up at him, stressing the singular.

Dream’s lips purse, and Hob goes back to kissing his chest, up his sternum, over his heart. “I know,” he says between kisses, “no other way. Than this.”

Dream tangles him up, long arms, legs curled together, shadow and star around him. Hob’s loved him so long that he doesn’t remember what it was like not to. He has been tangled up in Dream since the beginning. It is what he is.

“A dream resides where it is wanted,” says Dream, finally answering his question. His voice has roughened, his breath has quickened, affected by Hob’s touch, by the words of the poem. Each lick, and kiss, and bite coils the Dreaming closer around them. One day it might be harder to wake up than to fall asleep.

“It’s wanted,” Hob says, and claims his beautiful mouth, pressing him back against the wall. His hair in its uncontrollable frissons, his eyes in their changeable void, his needy starvation of a thousand unanswered love poems—this kiss is a response to those missives. Dream is in the shadowed parts of him, in his turning points, in the words he speaks. Hob sees his answer in the tears that bead along his eyes but refuse to fall, in his darkness and whimsical creations, and his surprised, gentle pleasure when he’s kissed.

Hob loves him so. There’s no moral or end to that story. Hob’s love for Dream is. Full stop. End of sentence.

#this is a little weird bc i was trying to capture how poems make me feel in the style of how i wrote it #hopefully some of you might like it because of or in spite of the weirdness XD #dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #my writing #inspired by poetry #me writing this like i'm just gonna start putting verbs where theyre not meant to be used and making things negative in a way it's not mean #to be. let's see what happens XD

[lindalofbroome]

25 - Twisted

'I have heard rumours of strange happenings at the Lake of Tears, and indeed all through the territory across the stream,' the stranger said carelessly, as he turned to go. 'I have heard that Thaegan is no more.' 'Indeed?' said Tom smoothly. 'I cannot tell you. I am but a poor shopkeeper, and know nothing of these things. The thorns by the road, I understand, are as wild as ever.' The other man snorted. 'The thorns are not the result of sorcery, but of a hundred years of poverty and neglect. The Del King's thorns, I call them, as do many others.' DELTORA QUEST 1 City of the Rats Ch 4 Money Matters

#roddacember 2023 #roddacember #lyn's roddacember prompts #postlyn #postlyn art #emily rodda #roddaverse #deltora quest #// #omg the double entendre of chapter title matters (noun) and matters (verb) that i just noticed #or perhaps ive noticed before but never wrote it down so i forget #but like beginning of the chapter youre like oh money matters (noun) theyre at a shop they are attending to matters of money they are #participating in transactions #but then you keep reading and you realise oh also? money matters (verb) because thats what tom cares about #he'll do anything for the right price

[autisticlancemcclain]

wip tease

i got an ask about childhood friends to lovers klance and i got SO carried away with it so here’s a piece of the fic. 

--- --- ---

Lance cries a lot. More than Keith has ever known anyone to cry. He cries every time they watch Bridge to Terabithia (which is frequently, and he also made Keith pinky swear the first time they saw it to never swing over an overflowing stream in the spring). He cries when he sees someone kill a bug (at least three times a week). He cries when Keith has to go back from his house to the group home (he won’t tell anyone, but Keith kind of likes that Lance is so sad about Keith going back. He doesn’t like that Lance is sad, of course, but he likes feeling wanted. It’s nice).

One place where Lance doesn’t cry so often anymore is the supermarket, though. Keith vividly remembers the first time he had gone with Lance and Marcela one Saturday morning — Lance had made up a whole silly song about running errands with his mom (he still hums is every time they go. Keith won’t tell Lance — he’ll get all smug about it — but he finds it kind of funny).

It had started out fine. Marcela opened up her grocery list (it was really long, Keith noticed. He imagined it unrolling to the floor and bouncing down the aisles, like in the movies), idly narrating to the boys what they needed. 

“And, if you two are good, I’ll get you a treat,” she’d promised. Lance lit right up, immediately chattering about all the different candies and chocolate bars they could get. Keith wasn’t yet sure if he should get his hopes up. 

Everything was fine for the first twenty minutes. Lance started up their space game, and they pretended every other shopper was a trickster alien pirate in a space mall, and they had to pretend to be one of them to get special parts for the castle spaceship. Marcela found their game amusing, and occasionally piped up with suggestions. Keith particularly liked her idea where they had to use ‘disguises’ consisting of silly hats and sunglasses from the clothes department. But after those twenty minutes, Marcela turned the cart into the meat aisle, and Keith saw Lance’s chin start to tremble.

Oh, boy.

You see, Lance loves all animals. All of ‘em. He likes the birds and the cats and the cows and the fish. He especially likes bugs (he even likes mosquitoes, which Keith thinks is bonkers. Lance isn’t the first person he’s met who likes bees or spiders, but he’s the first person he’s met who’d rather endure a mosquito bite than kill the stupid pest). He loves them enough that the idea of killing and eating them makes him incredibly sad. And looking at meat… never bodes well for him.

Marcela sighs quietly, having likely anticipated the tears, and Keith gets an idea.

“Mrs. Marcela,” he started politely (she won’t let him call her Mrs. Esposita-McClain, but he’s not comfortable enough to drop the title. So they compromised), “can Lance and I take a piece of the grocery list and go get them for you? And then we can meet up with you later?”

Marcela glanced over at Lance, who was staring forlornly at the beef with watery eyes, and back at Keith. A slow smile spread across her face.

“Do you have your watch on you?”

Keith nodded, holding up his wrist.

“Okay, then. Watch my purse for a sec.” 

Keith dutifully stood by the cart and her purse, reaching over to pat Lance gently on the head without looking. Marcela stepped over to the end of the aisle, grabbing one of those plastic grocery baskets, and hurried back.

“Here,” she said, handing Keith the basket. She tore off a piece of the grocery list and gave him that as well. “You boys go grab what’s on that list. Meet me at the self-checkout in 25 minutes. Don’t talk to strangers except for employees, and even then, only if you have to. Okay?”

Keith nodded, tugging Lance along to the first aisle he sees. Lance sniffled, turning to face Keith for the first time. 

“Where’re we going?”

“To get groceries.”

“What about mamá?”

“She said it’s okay. We have to meet her in 25 minutes, though.”

The independence seemed to light a fuse in Lance, tears evaporating off his face. 

“Really? We get to get the groceries?”

“Some of them,” Keith replied, smiling a little. 

Lance beamed back, and something settled in Keith’s chest. He liked it better when Lance was smiling.

“Woohoo! Let’s go!” He grabbed Keith’s hand and tugged him away, chattering about their ‘new mission’. He was so excited he forgot to say goodbye to Marcela, so Keith waved for both of them. She was laughing.

Twenty-five minutes later (on the dot), they met Marcela at the self-checkout, Lance pointing out all the things they got “…and the cheaper ones, too, we checked the prices and everything —“

Marcela smiled softly, reaching an arm out to pull Keith close with a squeeze. 

“Leandro’s little protector, huh?” she asked, ruffling his hair.

Keith scoffed, about to remind her that only one of them got into regular fistfights in the schoolyard over insults and bullying and it sure as heck wasn’t Keith, but he paused. 

Yeah, Lance was the one who went feral when some idiot at school insulted the two of them. He might be small and scrawny, but he’s certainly scrappy. Ethan was not the first or last time Lance made someone bleed (he tended to bite). Lance is the one who comes up with revenge to inflict on bullies or mean older kids. Keith’s favourite incident was the time he brought his Nana’s sewing kit and seam ripper to school, along with a container of beaten eggs. He snuck into the classroom during recess, opened the bottom of Nell’s — she was a mean girl who often made horrible comments about Keith’s eyes and Lance’s tendency to wear skirts or pink — backpack, and carefully brushed the beaten eggs all over the fabric. Just enough to cover it, but not soak it. He sewed it back up and stashed the evidence. Over the next few weeks, the eggs in Nell’s bag rotted, but she couldn’t figure out where it was coming from and reeked for days before she finally convinced her parents to get her a new backpack. But by then, the damage was done — she was Smelly Nelly to everyone who knew her. It didn’t exactly stop her teasing, but it certainly made it easier to bear.

But their friendship certainly wasn’t one-sided. Keith might not use his fists, or come up with revenge plans twisted enough to get him sent to the guidance counsellor, but he definitely helped Lance in other ways. He thinks back to every time he wrote down notes for Lance when the lights and sounds were hurting his head and he can’t pay attention. To every time he was a shoulder to cry on, or a distraction.

Maybe he is Lance’s protection, just as much as Lance is his.

“We protect each other,” Keith decided eventually. He’s a little surprised at the conviction in his voice.

Marcela laughs, brushing the mop out of his eyes and pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

“You’re absolutely right, mijo.”

—

#i think i fucked up the verb tenses #so if anyone knows how to fix that please let me know #but this fic is so long that im losing track 😭😭 #anyways if this is boring do not tell me ive spent too much time on it now #vld #voltron #keith #keith kogane #lance #lance mcclain #lance's family #lance's mom #her name is marcela for me bc i like that #childhood best friends klance #klance #childhood friends to lovers #keith & lance #kid fic #theyre not dating in this #pre slash #uhhhhh #what else #oh #feral lance #bamf lance #genderqueer lance #brown eyed lance #soft keith #kind keith #bamf keith

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

this exchange is like oughghfhg "why does it matter (to you) whats going on with me" "because friends tell each other these things"

like the doctor since the beginning has been like we can make a friendship around all the things that are going on with me. i never have to mention them because they are irrelevant to our friendship. and yaz is like sharing those things is the friendship.

i also think it's fun that the script puts this tone shift right between here:

and it makes me wonder how many times theyve had this fight. and how many versions of it

#'we ARE friends' #it's the way the script combines 'more resentful' with 'we are friends' that makes me look at it...not differently really just #slightly new angle #like yazs side as resentful sure thats clear but to imagine the doctor's side ALSO as a little resentful #because yaz keeps invalidating the friendship they HAVE by sort of backhandedly asking for more #bc she needs more #but the way that yaz goes 'friendship to me means you share stuff' by saying 'i thought we were friends' does kinda like #imply theyre not really #and to the doctor they ARE. the doctor's like no we ARE friends i care about you a lot #would get upsetting to get your love for your friend repeatedly questioned or invalidated like that #it's just that they need different things #or actually i think they need the same thing i think sharing more stuff would be good for the doctor too #but they just want different things from the friendship at this point and that.........fricts #thats not a verb #whats the verb that goes with friction #anyway you get it

[jewfrogs]

haeret adulterio cum cane nexa canis (AA 2.484) is one of my least favorite lines of latin literature. why say that

#ribbits #haeret and nexa are both nasty verbs to use here. and what do you mean adulterio. theyre dogs

[anticurses]

this is so fucking stupid. connections my behated

#it was my first guess because i usually look for adjectives/verbs and see if theyre a group but still😭

[atthebell]

Are you telling me this isn't the term for throwing a snow ball in someone?

no in english you would just say "i threw a snowball at them" we don't have a specific verb for it. english is actually kind of terrible about verbs in that way, versus romance languages which take on loanwords and nouns and make them into verbs far easier, or hebrew with which you can adapt pretty much any word, including foreign words, into any part of speech fairly easily but particularly verbs (i.e. "to Google" -> לְגַגֵּל (legagel, infinitive form in hebrew, maintains the root of g-g-l)

#asks #anons #language talk #also sorry if you were being sarcastic i just thought about hebrew verb forms and got excited #also also in case anyone tries to be a dumbass yes im jewish and i speak (some) hebrew #im also american and staunchly antizionist please dont send me stupid antisemitic asks #the fact that i have to preface that at all is ridiculous but the shit people try to send me all the time #anyway. i love binyanim (constuctions) theyre such a cool element of the language

[the-boy-branithar]

worst part of learning another language is having to learn english first

#bruh i learned about verbs adjectives and nouns in school that is IT #maybe cuz i went to a poor school #but they didnt teach us all this other fancy stuff! #wtf is a preposition! #in high school theyre like ya you speak this language now its time to analyse texts #which sure im good at and ig technically ive never needed to know the finer points of how english works #but now i look silly when im tryna learn other languages

[47-protons]

I love glancing at the clock and realizing I haven't appeased the owl yet today

#it has been. a week. i couldnt even tell you what theyre doing in the current duolingo unit. #verbs?? maybe verbs????? #whack an r at the end of it??? #im so tired

[prontaentrega]

pentiment spanish translation turns isenkopf's house into house of the isenkopfs even though baltas is the only isenkopf. which makes it sound like gnaziu is his husband

#im fond of this translation its very good #occasionally theres some small mistakes but i think theyre funny mostly. like when you pet an unnamed cat the translation says #''mascota'' (pet as a noun) instead of ''acariciar'' (pet as a verb). but its endearing to me idc #chizitxt

[cosmik-homo]

Me: hmmm yeah I need to get my hrt into arrangements stages even without the lost blood checks.

Also me: dresses like goddammit tinkerbell

#i simply do not give s shit <3 #'hello maam yes im here for the boy juice. yes half my verbs are in feminine form. the what? hugh earrings? oh yeah theyre clipons though.

[crunchycrystals]

im back to language learning and i can feel my brain fizzling as i try to understand what this textbook is trying to tell me

#crunchyposts #lang #its not technically a textbook its an online grammar thing #im still absolutely losing it. i love language learning but my brain is dying from how theyre explaining verbs in sentences

[icehot13]

Toolie (on the phone): go ahead and label the longest neutral spool 28 and the next longest 30

Me: ok! Also I locked myself out of the electrical room right after you left 😇

#we're having a night of things #tooled up is the cutest verb #youre tooled up with someone when you're work partners #so theyre your toolie!!! #this is mostly for when youre the same classification #my apprentice is sorta my toolie but mostly theyre my apprentice #my fellow jdub isnt My Jdub theyre my toolie

[rebellum]

I love you religious queers I think it's admirable that you're still participating in religion despite what other people say and despite what peoppe say about your god(s)

#i have... a complicated relationship with christianity. #if it were all like my mums version where god is a conscious and everpresent force of love then i could do it #but i find it difficult to... [ #verb] [negotiate? idk] #that understanding of religion alongside the queerphobia that exists that ppl blame god on #and ESPECIALLY wrt the antisemetism embedded within the bible and how its been used to hurt so do many non-Christians #like its difficult to.. reconcile i guess. to separate the god thats love from the belief that god said residential schools were good. #colonialism is baked into Christianity and has been since the christianization of Rome. #i want to love jesus and god. i want to believe theyre good. #but i cant get past how their names have been used for such awfulness. #:( #i was really close with jesus as a kid.

[mikkaeus]

can anyone who speaks thai confirm or deny that what vegas says to pete here is คิดเสียว่าความซื่อสัตย์มีอยู่จริง (khit siia waa khwaam seuu sat mee yuu jing)

#i may have spent too much time trying to figure this out #kinnporsche #vegaspete #look im PRETTY sure it all checks out but i literally am just going of thai-language.com i had to google if verbs were conjugated #(theyre not) #ramblings