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#or even sociolinguistics

official-linguistics-post · 2 months

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Most underappreciated branch of linguistics in your opinion?

ALL OF THEM MORE PEOPLE SHOULD CARE ABOUT LINGUISTICS

#to get back on my soapbox:#i think the penetration of sociolinguistics throughout the field does not have broad enough recognition #i'm not even a sociolinguist TT_TT

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murderballadeer · 4 months

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worst inside joke i have is that every time i come across a mention of linguistic relativity in stuff i read for anthro and linguistics classes i screenshot it and send it to my friend with the caption "sapir whorf hypothesis jumpscare"

#i don't remember why i started. we both have linguistics minors but i'm on the sociolinguistics side of things more than he is #especially as i'm an anthro major so we talk abt language there as well #so i am subject to more sapir whorf hypothesis jumpscares than he is. have to even the score #soapbox

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assholepants · 2 years

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This is going to be a long post theorising about the linguistic landscape of alternia, as told by me, a dude with a sociolinguistics degree.

Thesis statement: The trolls are native bilinguals in Alternian and English and Alternian society exists in a state of diglossia.

We are told that Doc Scratch has heavy influence over alternia, shaping the society to eventually provide the perfect context for the young trolls to develop the necessary skills to 'win the game' and trigger the chain of events that summon Lord English. Given that interaction with the humans is a fundamental part of this chain of events, it makes sense that the ability to communicate with them in a language they understand would be one of these 'necessary skills'. Introducing English language into Alternian society would be a huge benefit to Scratch's plan and so, I personally think the trolls grew up native bilinguals in Alternian and English.

If this is the case, then given all the contextual clues we have access to, I think bilingualism in Alternia probably existed in a state of diglossia. This means that the two languages are used for different purposes within society and hold different status. The H (or 'high') language (in this case, Alternian) is the language holding higher symbolic status in society, it would be used more in contexts such as education, religion, politics and art. English would then be the L (or 'low') language, having lower prestige, being used among peers, in the home etc.

In the comic, we see all Alternian books and movies are produced in Alternian, which would make sense as the more codified H language. However, I think the trolls are actually using English when communicating with each other online (as opposed to blaming this on the translation convention, where we assume they're speaking Alternian, but the author has written the text in English, because the audience doesn't speak Alternian). My main evidence for this is the trolls typing quirks. Alternian uses a completely different alphabet, so it's unlikely that the quirks used by the trolls would translate over properly.

A couple other things that I think fit well into this theory:

If English is used mainly in informal contexts, it is more likely that its users will invent and perpetuate 'slang'. Instead of viewing 'troll words' as mistranslations, we could view the use of overly literal language as its own form of slang. Viewed this way, the reactions of the highbloods to these words make way more sense, as they look down on the lowbloods use of the slang and encourage them to speak 'properly'.

It adds a pretty funny dimension to how trolls view 'earth media'. Why are they producing all of their art in the L language? Are they THAT uncultured?? Troll media is way more prestigious.

Anyways here's the Wikipedia link for diglossia

#homestuck #I'm not even gonna say this is one of the more out there things I've used my degree for #Because anybody who's studied sociolinguistics knows we will write about literally anything #Linguistics #sociolinguistics #Xenolinguistics

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linguist-breakaribecca · 1 year

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Quick reminders for the new year:

Trans women are women.

Trans men are men.

Someone’s gender identity is theirs alone to declare and your input means diddly.

Someone’s gender expression is also not where your opinion belongs.

Gender is a spectrum.

Gender is not a static thing.

Singular ‘they’ is perfectly good.

Neopronouns are perfectly good.

People are not forever defined by which of 2 boxes a doctor or midwife checked when they met them as an infant, and to say they are is about as bonkers as saying you refuse to acknowledge they’re not 8lbs 6oz or blond, because those are what their original birth certificate said they are.

And this blog is a no-TERF zone.

Even if this were a purely academic linguistics-centric blog with citations and independent research, I would still easily be able to dunk on terves because they so obviously twist language into the specific way they think protects them, and with that tangled-ass web they also try to ensnare anyone who believes that trans people are valid. The hypocrisy and invented definitions are just… so bad.

But, because this is just the personal blog of someone who happens to be a linguist:

🏳️‍⚧️ I will definitely dunk on terves whenever the opportunity presents itself. 🏳️‍⚧️

Your feminism isn’t made better by clinging to a narrow definition of who deserves respect, and you sound like a fool when your worldview boils down to “it’s bad to judge women and their worth by their bodies! now I’m going to judge your womanhood and your worthiness for basic human rights based on your body.”

Just look at HOW. MANY. TIMES. a terf will think she’s doing The Right Thing by telling another woman that she’s “not fooling anyone” and is “clearly a man” because the terf is channeling their inner misogynist and weaponizing “non-feminine” aesthetics… but she’s raging against a cis woman with muscular arms or a receding hairline. With that much friendly fire, you’d think they’d realize their ideology sucks.

I will dunk on anyone who proudly calls themselves a TERF or radfem, just as I’d dunk on anyone else who thinks it’s fine or cute to identify primarily with their bigotry. Feel free to keep putting your ignorance in your bio, or reblogging from [hate group]-r-us, so the rest of us can know to just hit that block button instead of wasting our time.

#linguistics #language #sociolinguistics #language and identity #language and power #language and culture #langblr #transphobes #terves #tw transphobes #tw transphobia #oh look theres a tag that says ‘terfblr’ so that’ll make blocking hateful dinguses even easier

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noaestheticacademic · 5 months

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On the Identity of "Chat"

Like all the linguistics folks on Tumblr, I've been sent the "chat is a fourth person pronoun" post by a bunch of well-meaning people and and I've been thinking waaay too much about it. @hbmmaster made a wonderful post explaining exactly why "chat" ISN'T a fourth person pronoun, and after reading it I wanted to go a little deeper on what it might actually be doing linguistically, because it is a really interesting phenomenon. Here's a little proposal on what might be going on, with the caveat that it's not backed up by a sociolinguistic survey (which would be fun but more than I could throw together this morning).

On Pronouns

Studying linguistics has been really beneficial for me because understanding that language is constantly changing helped me to become comfortable with using they/them pronouns for myself. I've since done a decent amount of work with pronouns, and here are some basic ideas.

A basic substitution test shows that "chat" is not syntactically a pronoun: it can't be replaced with a pronoun in a sentence.

"Chat, what do we think about that?"

"He*, what do we think about that?" (* = ungrammatical, a native speaker of English would think it sounds wrong)

Linguists identify pronouns as bundles of features identifying the speaker, addressee, and/or someone outside the current discourse. So, a first person pronoun refers to the speaker, a second person pronoun refers to the addressee, and a third person pronoun refers to someone who is neither the speaker nor the addressee (but who is still known to the speaker and addressee). This configuration doesn't leave a lot of room for a "fourth" person. But the intuition people have that "chat" refers to something external to the discourse is worth exploring.

Hypothesis 1: Chat is a fourth-person pronoun.

We've knocked this one right out.

Hypothesis 2: Chat is an address term.

So what's an address term? These are words like "dude, bro, girl, sir" that we use to talk to people. In the original context where "chat" appears - streamers addressing their viewers - it is absolutely an address term. We can easily replace "chat" with any of these address terms in the example sentence above. It's clear that the speaker is referring to a specific group (viewers) who are observing and commenting on (but not fully participating in) the discourse of the stream. The distinction between OBSERVATION and PARTICIPATION is a secret tool that will come in handy later.

But when a student in a classroom says "wow chat, I hate this," is that student referring to their peers as a chat? In other words, is the student expecting any sort of participation or observation by the other students of their utterance? Could "chat" be replaced with "guys" in this instance and retain its nuance? My intuition as a zillenial (which could be way off, please drop your intuitions in the comments) is that the relationship between a streamer and chat is not exactly what the speaker in this case expects out of their peers. Which brings me to...

Hypothesis 3: chat is a stylistic index.

What's an index in linguistics? To put it very simply, it's anything that has acquired a social meaning based on the context in which it's said. In its original streaming context, it's an address term. But it can be used in contexts where there is not a chat, or even any group of people that could be abstracted into being a chat. Instead, people use this linguistic structure to explicitly mimic the style which streamers use.

And that much seems obvious, right? Of course people are mimicking streamers. It doesn't take a graduate degree to figure that out. What's interesting to me is why people choose to employ streaming language in certain scenarios. How is it different from the same sentence, minus the streamer style?

This all comes down to the indexicality, or social meaning, of streamer speak. This is where I ask you all to take over: what sorts of attitudes and qualities do you associate with that kind of person and that kind of speech? I think it has to do with (here it comes!) the PARTICIPANT/OBSERVER distinction. By framing speech as having observers, a speaker takes on the persona of someone who is observed - a self-styled celebrity. To use "chat" is to position oneself as a celebrity, and in some cases even to mock the notion of such a position. We can see a logical path from how streamers use "chat" as an address term to how it is co-opted to reference streamer culture and that celebrity/observer relationship in non-streaming mediated discourse. If we think about it that way, then it's easy to see why the "fourth person pronoun" post is so appealing. It highlights a discourse relationship that is being invoked wherein "chat" is not a group but a style.

#chat #linguistics #pronouns #discourse

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dallaji · 6 months

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Save some room for us.

♡ bada lee x reader / NSFW❗

SUMMARY: This could’ve been a perfect night: it was your first time being invited to a sorority house party and you were promised alcohol, decent music and good company. So naturally, because nothing is ever truly perfect, your ex-situationship had to be a part of said sorority.

WORD COUNT: 7k

CW: ex-fwb, university setting, lengthy smut (like 50% ratio), both bada and reader are switches, relationship is the epitome of "its complicated", bada is a mess but please forgive her, author has never used a dating app before, kinda angsty?? hopeful ending though!!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this was inspired by this post by @moonsvrse but it honestly spiralled so um, i'm so sorry if it's not what you hoped it'd be (╥﹏╥).

————— ୨୧ —————

It was almost comedic, honestly.

When Minah had invited you to her sorority’s house party with a hopeful glimmer in her eyes, you had said yes without a second thought. It wasn’t your scene at all, but you and Minah shared a Sociolinguistics class that became considerably less boring once you sat down next to each other.

Usually a Saturday night was spent with your two roommates, eating at the cheap fast food joint around the corner of your shared dorm: you were always back in the comfort of your own room before the clock struck 11pm. For the sake of experience you decided, why not. Maybe you’ll finally get a taste of that wild university life.

Now, at 11:05pm, you were crammed into a sorority house with at least 150 other people: the bottom of your sneakers sticky after stepping in an unidentified puddle on the floor, speakers blaring whatever Spotify selected for the RapCaviar playlist that week, and a bottle of lukewarm beer in your hand. It was fine, though. Minah had introduced you to some of her friends who you had hit it off with quite effortlessly. One girl called Lusher couldn’t stop gushing over your outfit, though by this point she had knocked back quite a few drinks.

You were having a good time.

But it became comedic once you headed to the kitchen with the group of girls to grab more drinks and were faced with a ghost from a not-so-distant past.

Bada Lee was leaning over the kitchen counter, smiling sweetly at a girl chattering animatedly in front of her. She looked just as attractive as you remembered her. Perhaps even more so.

Naturally, your first ever house party had to be hosted by a sorority she was seemingly a part of.

Really. It was straight out of a comedy skit.

Bada and you had met on a dating app about a year ago: you saw a picture of a girl standing tall in a dance studio while donned in a sweater, jogger and Jordans, and you had instinctively swiped right. You don’t know what Bada had thought of your low effort selfie - posing inside a coffee shop - but it must’ve impressed her somehow. You were matched by the end of the day.

“fuck marry kill: han so hee, bruce wayne, me” had been her introductory line. And despite your answer (you had, in fact, answered that you would kill Bada), you did end up fucking after spending your first date at a dim sum restaurant.

This was, coincidentally, right after she had confessed she wasn’t interested in anything serious right now. She had still wanted to meet you however. You were, in her words, “too pretty not to take out”.

You didn’t have a lot of time to mull over the initial disappointment, because she was fingers deep in you later that same day; lips attached to your neck and a rogue hand fondling your breast. Regrettably, the sex had been ridiculously good.

Chin up, though! It wouldn’t be the last time.

The second “date” was spent watching a schlocky horror flick in her small dorm, before you ate her out on the couch until she was shaking and panting underneath you; bad movie and takeout pizza long forgotten. What you had initially disregarded as an incredible one-night stand became a biweekly hookup for the 5 months that followed.

The both of you had set rules in place, though these were mostly driven by Bada: this was just sex. She didn’t have the time or the “emotional bandwidth” for anything serious.

The problem was that the lines got blurred pretty quickly. After a month you had begun meeting up without the pretense of sex hanging in the air. You would rent some more schlocky horror movies together and actually watch them, popcorn propped up in your laps. She would wait up for you after class to go grab some coffee, even if her own schedule was mismatched. You had cooked chicken noodle soup in a pinch at her dorm when she was down with the flu. She would slip her arms around your waist from behind and call you her “baby” in the softest voice.

And yet, the rules were simple. There were no strings attached to this arrangement, and you would be reminded in subtle ways. While you knew how she liked her eggs in the morning and that she’d much rather spend her time on watching terrible TLC reality shows than studying for her finals, you had no clue who her friends were or what hometown she grew up in. Sometimes your text messages would go unread for days at a time, but she would still post on Instagram. Bada’s Tinder profile picture would change every now and then, despite her continuously finding her way back into your bed.

But it had been fine. The rules were simple, and it never really drove you to heartbreak levels of sadness. At the very worst you had been annoyed by her flakiness, but you enjoyed her company too much to ever mention it.

That was until you woke up one day to find yourself blocked on Instagram, her account set to private without a clarification or even a final goodbye. You had sent exactly one text asking if everything was alright, but it never went through. Her Tinder profile stopped updating. The message was more than clear, and you were not one to chase someone down. You were much too prideful for that.

A few days after being locked out of her life, your roommate (who had taken it upon herself to keep tabs on your past situationship) showed you a picture of Bada wrapped around a girl who was everything you were not: where she looked soft, you were sharp edges; where she was exuberant, you were placid. And then everything clicked. She had met someone who made her want to go steady, and that person was resoundingly not you.

You met your roommate’s eyes with such a forced indifference, it almost felt defiant: “Good for her.” You had mumbled, unpausing the TLC reality show Bada and you used to watch together.

Thus, exactly as she had bulldozed into your life, she had promptly disappeared. You, too, stopped using Tinder. When your friends asked about your dating life, you would shrug and say you didn’t have the time for it. But truthfully, the pit in your stomach became a permanent fixture whenever the topic arose.

You carried on with your life; there were no “stuffing yourself with chocolate” or “locking yourself in your bedroom sobbing”, but the hurt you felt was akin to pulling back when a candlelight grew bigger under the palm of your hand. You felt slighted and confused, frustrated that she never felt an explanation was warranted. But perhaps this was your problem: putting expectations on a woman like Bada, who had never done the same for you. The rules had been simple, after all.

It had been 7 months since then, and you had genuinely not thought of the girl in a long time. Yet there you stood, frozen in the doorframe as Minah and her friends rushed into the kitchen. The way Bada was looking at the girl in front of her almost reminded you of the way she looked at you on that faithful first date. The girl in question, however, looked nothing like the girlfriend she had introduced to the world months prior.

You were normal about it.

So normal that you had traced your steps back unnoticed and hid around the corner with your back pressed against the wall. A guy you didn’t know gawked at you like you were a safety risk, but you were too busy trying to think of an escape plan to really pay attention.

“Bada! We were looking for you earlier— Wait, Minah, where’d your friend go?” You heard Lusher’s voice question.

“Oh? I swear she was just behind me.”

“Friend?” The familiarity of Bada’s voice made your stomach churn. You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

“Yeah! Don’t think you know her, she’s in my Sociolinguistics class— Seriously, where’d she run off to?”

“Sociolinguistics, you said?”

You couldn’t listen to it any more: you downed your beer with a grimace, left the bottle on a nearby table and then pushed through the partygoers. The living room was currently packed with people dancing, playing beer pong or lazing on and around the couch. It was busy enough to drown yourself in the crowd and thus slip away from Minah’s searching eyes.

You found a free spot on the carpet in front of the television and sat down unceremoniously, legs crossed as the partygoers around you did not spare you a single glance; way more focused on things you weren’t doing. Like having fun, for example.

You suddenly became much more conscious of how loud the music was. It was absolutely going to leave your ears ringing once you were back in the safety of your own bed.

Fishing your phone out of your pocket, you sent your roommate a tentative text asking if she was still awake and could come pick you up. You would give it half an hour, you told yourself. If she didn’t get back to you beforehand, you were honest to god willing enough to call an Uber.

You kept track of your surroundings, dropping your head whenever you noticed Minah or her friends move around the room. You could’ve sworn they were calling for your name. Luckily no one else in the sorority house knew you, so your cover wasn’t blown.

It took 20 minutes.

You had been scrolling through your Instagram feed when a beer bottle was shoved under your nose. Flinching, as if you were snapped out of a trance, you looked up only to meet the eyes of the one person you had been trying to avoid.

Bada had come to sit next to you on the floor while you weren’t paying attention, and held out the drink with a soft smile. There was a point in time where you were obsessed with that smile, but right now it was ticking you off.

“Hey there.” She sounded painfully nonchalant as if she were greeting an old friend, voice loud enough to be audible over the music. You suppose she was, if you were to have a habit of making out with people you considered old friends.

You felt like a cornered animal; your brain urging you to just get up, walk away and call an Uber, but your body remained frozen in place. You took the beer from her hand with little acknowledgment, breaking your shared eye contact, and took an immediate swig from the bottle.

“Hi.” You muttered bitterly, staring straight ahead.

“Never pegged you as a sorority girl,” She was still looking at you, smile unmoving as she brought her own drink to her lips, “Minah invited you?”

“Yup.” You popped the ‘P’, turning the bottle in your hand to keep your eyes occupied. “Could say the same for you.”

“I moved out of my dorm at the start of the semester. This place is much bigger, so the sorority formalities are only a small sacrifice.” Bada laughed good-naturedly, as her head tilted to the side to get a better look at you, wordlessly encouraging you to meet her halfway.

You kept your eyes on your drink, fighting the urge to ask her what the hell she could even want from you. “Cool.”

“How have you been?”

Was she really going through all the steps of small talk 101?

“Fine, what about you?” You took another swig from the bottle.

“Okay,” Bada replied vaguely, but the amiable smile did not leave her face, “What is it you did again- Political science?”

You tightened the grip on your bottle and scoffed, tongue digging in the hollow of your cheek. She knew damn well that you had a major in Anthropology. The smart thing to do would be to get up and leave, but you liked having a retort ready: something Bada had said she loved about you in the past.

“What is it that you did? Computer science?” You looked up at Bada, who was very much a Dance major.

For the first time Bada’s smile faltered. Perhaps it was something about the look in your eyes or the combativeness in your body language, but it was enough to downturn the corners of her mouth. She put down her drink. “Sorry, I thought—” She began, suddenly unsure of what to say, “I was joking.”

“I don’t know what you think.” You retorted plainly. The words, which were clearly not only meant for the current conversation you were having, hung in the air like a dark cloud. “Look, I didn’t know you were going to be here. So before you get the wrong idea—”

“I’m sorry.” Bada blurted, but her eyes were no longer scanning your face and rather seemed much more preoccupied with the sleeves of her hoodie, slender fingers picking at the fabric.

“You already said that.” You sighed, not letting up. You didn’t like the sudden rigidity in her posture, but it was hard not to feel like your anger was well founded.

“I know you wouldn’t know I would be here. It’s not like I…” She glanced up at the ceiling and gestured vaguely with her hands. “It’s not like you would’ve had a way of finding out.”

You arched an eyebrow, quietly waiting for her to continue.

Bada pressed her lips together in a fine line, worrying the skin between her teeth as she pondered her next words carefully. “I’m sorry for the way I left things.” Finally, she turned to look at you, her eyes intense and pleading. For a second your mouth went dry, vaguely registering how close she was. You wanted to scoot away, but her stare was begging you to hear her out. “A lot was happening— A lot has happened. I was a complete coward, and so immature, I- I’ve regretted it since.”

“You could’ve unblocked me any time.” You spoke slowly.

“I could’ve.” Bada agreed, scanning your face. “Maybe I’m still a coward. But then I saw you just now and…” Her lips parted as she mulled over her next words: “I don’t know. I just needed to talk to you.”

The bottle of beer was becoming lukewarm in your hold. You didn’t like seeing this Bada: guilt and shame written all over her face and shrunken into herself. It seemed completely unnatural to the girl you had come to know for those 5 months, who did everything but make herself smaller. You desperately wanted to tell her everything was okay, but you knew you would regret leaving things unsaid. Even now, when you think back to the moment where you found yourself locked out of all her accounts, you could feel your heart plummeting down your chest so vividly; as if you were experiencing it all over again.

“You didn’t owe me a lot,” You admitted, attempting to hide the quiver in your voice, feeling silly as soon as the words had left you, “but you could’ve said something. Anything.”

“Yes.” Her voice was almost a whisper, eyes downcast. “I want to tell you everything that was going through my mind at the time but, maybe not now.��

“Maybe not now.” You concurred. Not because you weren’t near desperate to know, but rather the timing didn’t feel right. You almost felt like she had to fight for the right to tell you what had happened. She should have to fight for your listening ear.

“You have actually been doing good?” Your eyes met again, and something about the way she spoke sounded hopeful; prodding.

“I’ve been good.” You replied, unsure of how to navigate the conversation any further.

You had half expected her to get up and leave with that, perhaps deem this closure enough to go on with her night, but she stayed put. Bada took another sip of her beer, the way her shoulders sagged an indication of how uneasy she felt. Yet she stayed put. You took this moment to take her in with a more discerning eye: her hair loose and dyed in streaks as opposed to the blonde head of hair you had met her with. She was in an oversized t-shirt and baggy pants, bright tech sneakers carrying over the colors of her outfit. Just as she had been in the past, she was your polar opposite. You were all sleek lines, minimalism and soft colors, your belted loose-fitting dress pants not fitting the energy of the party whatsoever.

Then, you noticed something colorful on her forearm.

“Is that a breakup tattoo?” You blurted dryly, eyes glued to the intricate wave drawn on her skin.

Bada chuckled, holding out her arm with a smile. “Something like that.”

“Never pegged you as the type.” You parroted the drawl of the same words she had used earlier, and Bada shook her head with a disbelieving grin. “When’d you get it?”

Her grin wavered, slowly morphing into something more calculating as she tilted her head to lock eyes with you once more: “About 7 months ago, give or take.”

————— ୨୧ —————

You barely noticed the doorknob pressing into your lower back as Bada held you down by your hips, your lips locked in a hungry kiss as the muffled sounds of the party downstairs thumped underneath you. Your fingers carded through her hair as she pushed her tongue past with a deep, shaky inhale through her nostrils. One of her hands came up to cradle the side of your face, deepening the kiss with the urgency of a starved person zeroing in on their last meal: if they wavered, it may be frisked away from under their nose.

The kiss was all spit and heavy breathing, mouths gliding together fluidly as if you had choreographed this in the past. Bada hummed approvingly into your mouth as your hands found the hem of her shirt and pulled upwards, eager to feel her bare skin again. She broke the kiss with a wet noise, albeit apprehensively, and let you tug the fabric off, leaving her in a mere sports bra. Your hands smoothed along her waist, reacquainting yourself as she licked into your mouth again without hesitation, now both hands cradling your face as if she was marveling at a treasure.

A particularly eager suck on your tongue made you moan against her lips, and Bada parted the kiss with a smug grin, half-lidded eyes scanning your features in amazement. “Your turn.” She whispered, gaze back on your saliva-slicked lips.

Before she could kiss you again, you crossed your arms over your stomach and pulled your sweater over your head, revealing a non-padded lace bra; the sheer fabric leaving little to the imagination. Something about the look in Bada’s eyes deepened as you both kicked your shoes off in a hurry, and she made immediate work of your belt: tugging at it roughly, your hips pulled forward by the force she exerted, before unhooking the clasp and throwing the garment on the pile of clothes left in your shared wake.

She planted one hand next to your head, against the wooden door, as the other one clutched onto your waist with a burning touch, effectively keeping you in place. Her parted lips attached themselves to the crook of your neck and she let her tongue swirl against the patch of skin, drawing a quivery exhale from you. Baring your neck further, you allowed her to mark you up without a second thought, and she seemed to take that job very seriously.

“You haven’t changed.” Bada noted against your skin, her breath skirting along your earlobe. Something about the tone of her voice sounded delighted at the fact, and you felt your lower stomach warm up impossibly more.

She kissed her way to your collarbones, your skin shivering at the sensation and letting your hands find purchase atop her shoulders. You let your head fall back against the door with a quiet ‘thud’, back arching when she sucked another hickey right above your cleavage. Then, her hands came up to your chest, squeezing your breasts together and watching the way your cleavage deepened. She bent over and licked up a stripe along the slit, tongue digging into the crease. You pushed your chest out instinctively, sucking in your lower lip.

Bada locked eyes with you as she brought her lips to one of your breasts, letting her tongue lap across the lace fabric covering your nipples. Your hand came up to tuck her hair behind her ear, your movements delicate as she licked at your other nipple, forcing them to stiffen under the heat of her tongue. Her soft hums reverberated against your skin, her thumbs digging right below the hem of your bra and skirting along your underbreasts.

Impatiently you brought your hand up to your back and unclasped your bra. Bada moved away, watching the fabric drop to the floor with a bemused expression, but her hands immediately pressed over your breasts in a possessive manner, kneading the flesh before locking your lips once again. Teeth clashed together, the desperation in both your ministrations making the kiss so uncoordinated you were both left panting. She nudged her hips against yours, writhing against you as your name left her lips.

Your fingers meaningfully hooked underneath the straps of her sports bra. “Your turn.” You mimicked her request from earlier, and she obeyed with a pompous grin.

But as usual, she had to one up you with a burning defiance in her eyes: she hooked her thumbs into her pants and tugged them off, underwear following suit. Eager hands grabbed onto your hips again as she rotated your positions; your back facing the bed.

“Try to keep up.” She whispered hotly against your mouth, the two of you immediately turning into a mess of limbs and unfocused kisses as she steadily walked you towards her bed.

The back of your knees hit the edge of her mattress, and you toppled backwards, barely able to register your new position before nimble fingers began unbuttoning your dress pants. Resting on your forearms, you raised your hips to give her easy access and soon enough she pulled off your final garments with haste; leaving the both of you completely bare.

You scooted backwards as Bada climbed on top of you, your arms instinctively wrapping around her waist as she leaned down to kiss your lips, her ass resting in your lap. You had no time to feel skittish about the state you were in, much too familiar with the scenario as Bada’s well acquainted touch found its way to your breasts again, rolling your nipples between her fingers. You missed this, but you would never admit that to her.

Suddenly, she parted the kiss to instead look down at you contemplatively. You tilted your head, a snarky response on the tip of your tongue before the palm of her hand pressed down right above your chest, halting your actions. Her eyes scanned along your figure ravenously, and you, too, took her in: she was somehow both lean and soft, her hair falling over her shoulders like a curtain, strong thighs keeping your hips in place. She was beautiful.

“Do you trust me?” She asked, forefinger tilting your chin upwards.

“No.” You replied honestly, not breaking eye contact.

She grinned wider, finding tremendous joy in your words before she climbed off of you. Leaning over her bed, she began rummaging through her bedside table drawer as you sat up, watching her curiously. You heard a clanging noise when she pulled something silvery out, hiding it behind her back before you could properly register what it was.

“Turn around for me.” She requested, and because you were all bark and no bite, you obeyed.

As soon as your back was facing her, you felt her gentle touch grab a hold of both your wrists, crossing them against your lower back. You felt the cold press of something sharp close around them and lock into place, and heat pooled in your lower stomach, immediately recognizing what she was doing.

You looked down at the handcuffs wrapped around your wrists over your shoulder before meeting Bada’s smug grin and blown pupils: as if her wildest dreams had just come true. She looked like she was ready to devour you.

“How many girls wore this before me?” You asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” She responded blithely, letting your fingers tangle together affectionately as she pressed a sweet kiss on your bare shoulder.

“Maybe I would.”

“Why does it matter if none of them look even half as good as you do?” She gave the cuffs a playful tug, nuzzling the back of your neck fondly before moving to lie down flat on her back; a hand pressed on your shoulder signaling you to stay put.

“And how many girls have you told the same thing?” You wondered loudly, unable to hide your own smile when Bada laughed at your words.

“Seems I have a lot to make up to you.” Her hands grabbed onto your hips and she began pulling you backwards. “Get on top of me, baby.”

Once again you obeyed because, well, she did have a lot to make up to you. And the way she called you 'baby' had you dripping.

Through her guiding motions, you scooted back on your knees until they were pressing down on either side of her head; Bada’s hands immediately came up to smooth along your curves until she cupped your ass, watching the jiggle as if she was hypnotized. Her eager touch almost made you purr, and you instinctively straightened your back to move all your weight to your legs, opening up for her as your arms were inebriated by the tight hold of Bada’s handcuffs.

“Good girl.” She crooned. And then, her hand came down to slap your ass.

You let out a surprised gasp but didn’t move. Bada hummed from beneath you, appreciating your responsiveness and letting her nails scrape along the back of your thighs, feeling you shiver under her touch.

“Unfair that you’re still so pretty from this angle.” Bada mumbled, mostly to herself. She placed her palms on your asscheecks and parted them, and you bent forward ever-so-slightly out of instinct, sinking deeper into the mattress.

Bada cooed and before you realized it, her hand was on you. Her slender fingers dragged along your glossy folds and coated your heat with your own wetness. You sucked in your lower lip, effectively muffling a surprised moan, but leaned into her touch all the same. Then, she blew cold air against you, gloating over the shiver that ran down your spine.

“So pretty.” She reaffirmed, bringing her fingers to her lips and licking them clean, her other hand spreading your folds.

You almost expected her to ask you to start begging: she had always relished in breaking down your rebellious defenses until you would desperately beg her for more. This time, however, she seemed just as keen as you - if not more - to get her hands on you. Saliva-covered fingers pressed back against your folds and she began drawing circles across them with a maddeningly soft pressure. A shaky exhale left you, hands curling into fists at your lower back as you slowly began grinding your hips against her touch, hoping to find more friction.

“That’s it.” She muttered, adding more pressure to her ministrations and beckoning you closer and closer, her other hand squeezing your ass.

With a particularly deep rub, you moaned her name and sank lower, the strain of holding yourself up while she was driving you mad almost unbearable. Bada groaned underneath your weight, basking in the way your hips gyrated with your heat so close to her face and she rewarded you by caressing her thumb along your entrance; circling it with more force as soon as she heard you keen. You felt heat course up your spine, immediately chasing her thumb through the grinding motions of your hips.

Bada, who had already found your most sensitive spot, giggled; prodding at your entrance with a forced carefulness she damn well knew you didn’t need. With a high-pitched whine, as the circling of her fingers against your clit sped up, you arched your back, wrists tugging at your handcuffs in frustration as she continued teasing you.

Finally, her thumb pressed into you, the circling of her wrist against you not pausing and you moaned, pushing your hips out impossibly further until Bada had to give your ass another forceful squeeze, urging you to stay put. She fingered you with delight and you felt yourself drip under her care, but what really made you twitch dangerously was the feel of her parted lips moving along your hip. She dug her teeth into your skin and slapped your ass once more, your body flinching inadvertently causing you to sink down on her finger with more force.

You knew you looked like a desperate mess, mindlessly chasing down whatever she was willing to give to you, but it didn’t stop you from whining out her name, your lower stomach clenching.

“You better not be close already, baby.” You were surprised by how out of breath and wrecked she sounded while you hadn’t even gotten to properly touch her yet. You once again tugged at the handcuffs and you heard her tut. “So impatient.”

She removed her thumb and you almost cussed at her, but were quickly shut up when both hands moved to your hips in a vice grip, pulling you directly onto her open mouth. A moan got stuck in your throat and you almost faltered, nearly falling forward but forcing your legs to keep you upright.

Bada began swirling her tongue along your folds as if she was parched, hands keeping your cheeks spread as she groaned hungrily against you. Bobbing her head up and down, she lapped at you, tongue digging into your folds before giving your clit a sharp suck; over and over again.

“Bada…” You moaned, head dropping and only having half a mind to wonder if anyone downstairs could hear you. You realized you kind of didn’t care when Bada was making the kind of noises underneath as if you were doing her a favor.

You had stopped moving your hips, too stunned from pleasure to even consider it, until Bada began forcing you to do so; tight grip on your hips as she lightly bounced you up and down against her mouth. You began rocking back, cursing softly when Bada slurped under you, drinking at the wetness she continuously drew out of you.

You then noticed Bada had spread her legs with a hum, her own hips gyrating against nothing as she ate you out. She was getting off to this, and you felt yourself go all the more insane with want. She was so wet and you wanted to touch her so badly, but your shoulders started to strain through the position you were locked into.

“Bada,” You started, but another eager suck made you cut yourself off with a moan. “Let me—”

She caught her breath against you, chest heaving, still insufferable enough to find the energy to say: “Be my guest.”

She dug right back in, this time her tongue prodding against your entrance, purposefully leaving you a despairing mess in your handcuffs.

You didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of begging for a release from your confines so you dropped forward, face down and ass up, forcing Bada to sit up a little higher to keep her lips pressed against you. You heard her curse.

You didn’t waste any time teasing her, instead immediately closing your lips around her glistening folds. There was no need to toy with her, because her thighs twitched as soon as your lips met her heat, and you felt her moans vibrate against you. You sucked harshly on a bundle of nerves before collecting spit in your mouth and coating her with it, slurping around her breathlessly. Her thighs spread apart even further and you felt her lips falter against you, overcome with pleasure as she began grinding her hips up into your mouth.

Soon you realized she was much closer than you had anticipated because she began sucking on your clit even harder, in complete and utter desperation, before digging her tongue into your entrance, nails pressing crescent marks into your asscheeks. You ground back against her mouth as you tried to keep a steady pressure on her, licking her with fast but deep strokes. You felt a familiar pressure tighten in your stomach and became involuntarily more erratic, muttering soft ‘uh-huh’’s to encourage her to keep going at the exact pace she was using on you.

Bada whined against you, the muscles in her upper thighs tightening next to your head. “So close—” She gasped, and you closed your lips around her clit and began sucking. Simultaneously, she dug her tongue impossibly deeper into your entrance.

That’s what did you in: a moan got stuck in your throat as you felt your full body quiver at the orgasm that rippled through you. Bada let out a guttural moan underneath you, her thighs clenching around your head and toes curling as she shook incessantly. Rocking your hips back against her in a daze, she continued to suck on you through your orgasm as you lapped at her clit, soon enough the both of you shivering against each other from oversensitivity.

Panting, you dropped yourself next to her, your legs and shoulders straining from exertion. You were about to ask her to get the handcuffs off of you, until she crawled on top of you.

She was completely flushed, bangs sticking to her forehead, nipples perked and chest heaving as she pinned you down against her pillows, your wrists still pressed into your lower back.

“Not done.” Bada managed to gasp out as she swept down for a needy kiss, your tongues meeting messily through parted lips. You did not know where she was gathering the energy from, but her hands were back on your hips to slide you further down the bed.

She threw her right leg over yours and you immediately realized what she was trying to do. “Can you still cum like this?” She wondered coyly, angling her hips against yours before pulling your own leg up, hooking your heel over her shoulder.

Her hold on you was burning, almost having the potential to leave bruises behind, and you didn’t even know how you felt yourself getting wet all over again. The handcuffs were digging painfully into your lower back but you didn’t care, your lips parted in anticipation as Bada stared you down with such a deep longing it made your stomach coil. She twisted her head and pressed a kiss to your ankle, never breaking eye contact with you, before grinding her hips against you in a tentative manner; her folds gliding flush against yours.

You bit down on your lower lip as you felt her wetness grind against you, a quiet whimper slipping past and the smile on Bada’s face widened, eyes turning into crescent moons despite her own excitement.

Yeah, you could still cum like this, and she knew it.

She began working up a pace against you, first slow and deep, and then letting it build up to something faster. The way your mounds met each other had your eyes rolling back, soft moans falling from your lips as your hips ground against each other. Never once did her eyes leave you and you almost felt drunk off her attention, eyes falling shut as she hummed in pleasure.

The bed shook, headrest slamming against the wall over and over again with the quickening of her pace. Bada brought a hand to your breast, kneading it into her palm as she spoke lowly, her own eyes half-lidded in exhilaration: “Can anyone else fuck you this good?”

Your lips parted in a gasp, your desire so intense you didn’t even know what you wanted to say. You wanted to say something snarky, but the urge to burst into tears and tell her ‘only you can’ closed around your throat like an invisible hand. Bada’s head fell back as both of your hips moved impossible faster; her tongue dragging messily along your ankle in a complete daze as you panted her name.

“Answer me.” She gasped, the hand that was previously preoccupied with your breast coming up to grab a tight hold of your chin. And as if to prove her point, she began fucking you. Hard and deep, your body shaking with every thrust.

Your brain was short-circuiting and you shook your head, eyes shut tight. “N- no…”

Then, her hand moved to your throat squeezing lightly, but possessively. “Say it.”

Feeling her hips falter, you panicked and cried underneath her: “No one can fuck me this good!”

Bada hummed approvingly, picking up the pace again and sliding her hand to the back of your neck. “That’s my baby.” She leaned down, your leg still hooked over her shoulder and stretching along with her movements, yet the pace at which she fucked into you never wavered. “Stick your tongue out.”.

Disoriented, you arched your neck and obeyed, her own tongue gliding against yours in such a filthy manner you became lightheaded. Then, she closed her lips around the wet muscle with a moan, before meeting your mouth in a full kiss that was more exchanging saliva than anything else.

She parted and moved back, her hips pausing momentarily as she looked to where your vaginas met. Before you could object at her lack of movement, she lowered her head and slowly let her spit dribble from her lips and fall onto your folds. Immediately, she picked up the pace again, watching the way the added lubrication made the two of you slide together even easier. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of her.

Bada met your gaze with a wolfish grin and immediately switched gears to an unforgiving pace, the sound of wetness and skin slapping together filling the room as you couldn’t even register the music that was still playing downstairs. You felt the pressure in your upper thighs build up again at a dizzyingly fast pace, and cursed under your breath.

“Please…” You gasped as you threw your head back, unsure what you were begging for but writhing your hips against hers so frantically the message should be anything but unclear.

“Am I gonna make you come again, baby?” Bada panted, slamming herself harder against you.

You nodded, feverishly: “I’m gonna- I need—” But the words died on your lips as your lower stomach folded dangerously. You needed to come. You needed Bada to make you come.

A palm flattened between your breasts as Bada leaned down on you impossibly harder, keeping you in place as her thrusts took your breath away. Without your body giving you another warning, you orgasmed a second time with Bada’s name in your mouth, legs spasming in her hold as she forcibly held you down; taking in every second of the ecstasy that overtook you with such a warmth in her gaze you almost felt yourself overcome with the urge to burst into tears again.

“So beautiful…” She whispered. “That’s it.” Her hands caressed up and down your thighs, whispering praises into the air to will the heaving of your chest away, feeling your heartbeat under the palm of her hand.

Finally, Bada dropped herself onto the bed next to you entirely out of breath with a self-satisfied grin, officially having spent the last bit of energy that was left in her. You watched her catch her breath with a fond gaze, wanting to reach out and hold her but being held back by the jingle of the handcuffs.

Bada snapped out of her stupor, almost appearing flustered for leaving you in such a state, and helped you sit up with a soft encouragement, promptly freeing you from your handcuffs. You felt a sharp strain in your shoulders as you shook them loose, a little dumbfounded when you noticed the red marks around your wrists.

Bada had noticed it as well and gently grabbed a hold of your hands, thumbs caressing along the bruises with a touch so careful it seemed she thought you would shatter. Slowly, she brought your wrists higher and began pressing delicate kisses against them.

“Sorry…” She said, sheepishly, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to scold her. Instead, you looked back at her with a dazed expression, heart constricting in your chest. You hadn’t seen this level of gentleness from her before.

Leaning over her bed, Bada grabbed an unopened bottle of water and uncapped it before handing it to you. You accepted it wordlessly, her actions making you aware of how parched your mouth felt.

Taking big gulps, you hoped to ease away the tension building up in your chest. Perhaps it was due to your post-orgasm state, but you felt anxiety spike up your heart rate as your head flooded with all kinds of thoughts. Was this a one-off? Was she going to ghost you again? Momentarily you felt like an idiot for even landing yourself in such a position, but before you could climb out of bed Bada flipped her blanket open.

“Tired?” She asked, picking up on how quiet you had become but assuming it was due to exhaustion.

You nodded timidly and crawled under the blanket with her, Bada slotting herself against you like a missing puzzle piece. Her fingers found the bruise at your lower back, where the handcuffs had been scraping against, and drew soothing circles against the skin. She mumbled something about having ointment for bruises, but the both of you were too slumped to get out of bed.

You nestled back against her despite the way your head yelled at you to take your leave, much too enthralled with the way her arm curled around your waist protectively. Bada giggled when she felt you snuggle closer and pressed a soft kiss to your neck, inhaling your scent with a hum.

The music downstairs had stopped and the house seemed quiet, the last guests likely having left ages ago, so all you could focus on was Bada’s soft breathing which slowed down by the minute. Your own eyelids began to feel droopy, too, and right before the both of you fell asleep, you felt her hold on you tighten.

————— ୨୧ —————

Your eyes snapped open, heart hammering in your chest as you became aware of your surroundings. Bada’s arms were still around you, loosely, as she slept soundly next to you. It was still dark outside but you saw the early beginnings of sunrise setting in the distant sky, signaling it was the very early morning. As your hands came up to rub your eyes, you became aware of the ache in your wrists and mentally cursed yourself.

This was easily the most irresponsible thing you’ve ever done: letting yourself be lured right back into Bada’s bed after she had passed you off like you meant nothing. You couldn’t believe how naive you had been; how enchanted you were by her every time. Staying here was setting yourself up for heartbreak, when she would inevitably ask you why you were still at the sorority.

You needed to leave.

Images of the night you had spent together flashed in front of your eyes, and you felt your lower stomach heat up.

You needed a lobotomy.

Slowly you grabbed a hold of Bada’s arm curled around your waist, the girl still sleeping serenely and entirely unaware of your panicked state, and moved it off of you. You paid close attention to her breathing, which remained even, and then deemed it safe enough to crawl out of bed. Your legs were wobbly once you stood, the strain caused by the position you had underneath her from the night before hitting you like a truck. You winced, groggily looking around as your eyes got used to the darkness and trying to navigate where your clothes had gone.

Before you could move to the other corner of the room, you felt a hand curl around your forearm. You gasped in surprise, whipping your head around to find Bada peering up at you through sleepy eyes. Your chest constricted painfully.

“Where ‘r you going?” She slurred, waking up slowly as the grip on your arm tightened.

“I…” You began, but the words got stuck in your throat once you saw the realization fall over her face. She frowned.

“Please don’t go,” Bada pleaded, voice much clearer this time though still hoarse with sleep, “Stay the night.”

“Bada, I don’t know if that’s a good idea…”

“Please,” She repeated, and she sounded so heartbroken you could die. “Let’s start over.”

You gazed back at her in wonder, trying to search her face for more clarity but all you found was too much. The look in her eyes was so vulnerable, so desperate.

She gave your arm a tug and whispered: “We can start over. Please get back in bed.”

You carefully moved your arm out of her grip, but she let go easily: not because she wanted to, but because she understood it wasn’t fair to hold you hostage. She wasn’t crying, but the way she looked up at you made you wish she was.

“I just- I’m going to use the bathroom.” You mumbled and immediately willed yourself to look away. You couldn’t take it anymore.

Your throat closed up painfully as you walked to the other side of the room and bent over to pick up your clothes. As you pulled your underwear on, you felt Bada’s prodding eyes in your back. With the rest of your clothes in your arms, you walked over to the door without sparing her a single glance, unlocked it and stepped out into the hallway. You clenched your jaw to hold back the tears from falling. The room remained quiet.

You found the bathroom right across Bada’s bedroom, and sat down on the shut toilet seat with your hands in your hair. You knew that you weren’t being totally unreasonable— so why did you feel like the worst, most cruel person in the world?

With a deep, shaky sigh you pulled your phone out of the pocket of your dress pants: it was 5:30am on the dot. Your roommate hadn’t responded to your text message yet, indicating that she had been fast asleep the entire time.

As you searched for an Uber in the area willing to drive this early, your phone dinged with a familiar notification.

Tinder.

You forgot you still had that installed.

You tapped the notification bubble and a familiar chat room opened up; one of Bada’s mirror selfies staring back at you at the top of the screen.

Today 5:36am fuck marry kill: kim tae ri, dick grayson, me

A breathless laugh escaped you.

Suddenly, you were filled with a clarity, thinking of the wave tattooed on her forearm.

You were willing to take the plunge.

Slowly, you stood up, leaving your clothes behind on the bathroom floor and headed back into Bada’s room. She was wide awake, face lit up by her phone screen as she looked up at you in apparent shock and gratitude.

You crawled back in bed, Bada’s arms curling back around your waist.

#bada lee x reader #swf2 #bada lee #street woman fighter 2 #bada lee smut #dalla!writes #i guess bada reads dc comics now idk

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mybworlds · 2 months

Text

Sex with stranger, one-shot

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: You, a beautiful stranger, an elevator.

rating: 18+ MDNI

warning tags: porn with lil plot, no use of Y/N, no outbreak, use of 'you', age difference not specified, smut, use of pet name, dirty talk, fingering, f & m masturbation, unprotected P in V, oral f receiving, if I miss smt please write me.

Thanks @vase-of-lilies for the banner

It was the end of the second semester when you met him, the man who would fuel your wildest sexual fantasies, your obsession, your sociolinguistics teacher, Dr. Miller. Before you met him you were a young woman always hunched over your books, focused on finishing your course of study as soon as possible, always ready to commit to a thousand and one projects just to get the most credits that would allow you to finish as soon as possible, then one day in February your eyes fell on his figure and that's where it all went to hell.

You're at the little kiosk outside the campus with one of your many unfailing books, this time it's the turn of the sociolinguistics book, your next course and next exam. Everyone had told you you'd soon meet the most bastard professor in the campus, the one with the cold stare, with smirks which he seemed initially to want to seduce you and then sink you in later, with a strong presence and a strong southern accent. Some had been positively impressed at first sight only to call him an asshole on the exam, others had called him a big bastard and that was it. You were never afraid to be confronted with punctilious and penetrating-looking professors, you just had to study and know more than him and everything would be fine.

That morning, you anticipate on purpose, you want to get to class before everyone else, even before the famous Dr. Miller. Arriving at the lobby, you read on the small monitor about his lecture would be on the fourth floor in Lecture Hall F. So, you head for the elevator, press the little button to call it, and wait. You are flanked by a man whom you don't dignify with a glance, however, too focused on arriving early, getting there first, being called an excellent student even by this other professor.

The doors open, and you enter, followed by this man. The doors close and you take a long breath; you never liked elevators, but that morning you made an exception. Not even a minute later the cabin stops with a jolt, and you find yourself staggering against the wall, the lights inside flicker and you start to sweat.

"Oh no." you find yourself groaning as you close your eyes.

"Afraid of elevators, aren't ya?" a voice asks you. Only then you remember you are not alone; you look up and find yourself observing the man standing there with you. Powerful physique, white shirt turned up to the elbows, jacket folded over one arm, curious look, dark brown eyes.

"Never liked 'em," you answer him, opening the jacket to breathe.

"It's okay, little one, we'll be out soon." the man says with a strong southern accent.

Little one? No one has ever called you that-- not even your ex, you find yourself thinking about that jerk and how he had sleazily cheated on you with your best friend before you started college, you've had a hard time trusting men ever since. In fact, after him, relationships with men have always been one-night stands. You were in fact too burned.

"I like people like you who anticipate, everyone should be like that," the man comments again.

You take a long look at his face, he's a handsome man, "Thank you. I'm here to make a good impression and instead I'm going to be late and maybe the professor will even be mad at me because he'll probably say you have to use the stairs instead of the elevator before going to class." now you're talking off the cuff and before long the guy is likely to tell you to shut up because he doesn't care, but then again he does, why should he listen to you?

"I'm sure he'll understan'." he tells you, throwing you a long look from head to toe.

You had even dressed strangely well that morning, you had decided to wear a dark suit and loafers with a bit of a heel, anything to make a good impression. Instead, you now have this stranger's gaze devouring you.

You notice the glint in his eyes, the way he licks his lips, you are not stupid, you understand by now what goes on in men's heads. You know when someone wants you, and the man next to you is no exception.

"You wanna fuck me?" you ask him direct, approaching him lewdly.

The man approaches you, he's tall, he's broad, "Yes." he simply answers you by dropping his jacket at his feet and then bridging the distance between him and you.

He places his lips on yours slipping his tongue into your mouth, you immediately accept it returning the kiss letting a moan escape into his mouth, you place your hands on his chest feeling him mighty under your fingers as you feel his hands in your hair and push you not too gently against the elevator wall.

You are crushed between the wall and his body, but you don't complain about it. You delight in hearing the stranger almost growl into your mouth, as you feel him place his hands on your hips almost pushing you against him.

You take that gesture as an invitation to continue, you place your fingers on the edge of his pants, then with one hand caress his still-covered intimacy, and this time you hear clearly a growl coming from his throat.

He pulls his lips away from yours only to look into your eyes to read if there is any hesitancy in you, but you don’t stop, don’t desist, not now that your senses are completely enveloped by his strong presence. He then pounces on your neck, lapping it with kisses and gentle bites that send discharges of pure lust all along your body, while with his hands he pulls away the flaps of your jacket, opening it and sliding it down your shoulders.

"You're so soft, little girl," he tells you without stopping kissing your neck.

You slip your hand into his pants, feeling his growing erection against the palm of your hand, caressing it blissfully with that soft and hard feeling at the same time.

"Take 'em off." he orders you, and you obey, lowering both his pants and boxers together, freeing his massive erection.

"Fuck, you’re so big." you groan resuming stroking his intimacy.

He smiles as he unbuttons your shirt, "Hope you're ready, little girl," he tells you, sliding your shirt off as well before lapping at your neck, your collarbones of kisses alternating with licks and small bites.

"Can't wait for you to fill me," you tease him, abandoning his erection and running your hands through his curly hair and pressing his head against your chest.

He resumes kissing you, threading his hands through your hair as he rubs against you. When you started that day, you had no idea that you were going to have sex with a stranger, you usually have sex after at least some super alcohol, never sober.

He then runs his huge hands over your chest until he frees your breasts from the cups of your bra, "Fuck, you're perfect." he tells you before lapping one of your nipples between his lips and starting to suck it ravenously, while massaging the other one unceremoniously. You groan as you thread your hands through his hair, pushing his head against your chest and pulling a few strands of his hair as he licks a nipple.

You moan with your eyes closed and your head completely abandoned against the wall. You hear in the distance the elevator bell ringing, some voices saying it's still a half hour before you can get out; it's all muffled.

You feel him fumbling with the zipper of your skirt without leaving your chest, you help him as much as you can, totally lost under those precise touches that send discharges of pure lust throughout your body. He reserves the same care and lascivious caresses for your other breast as you press yourself against him, seeking further pleasure.

The skirt finally falls at your feet, you kick it off and then lower your underwear as well.

"Spread your legs, let me feel how aroused you are," the stranger says, turning his face away from your breasts and sliding one of his huge hands directly there, you are soaked. You groan when he unceremoniously slides two fingers inside you to the hilt, you drop your head against his shoulder as he rhythmically slides his fingers in and out. You see the stars behind your eyelids, it's beautiful.

"Come, little girl, I know you want it, come," he encourages you without stopping touching that magnificent spot inside you, you cling to him as you feel the orgasm sweep over you with great violence. He keeps stroking you until he feels you relax against him.

"You are so good." he tells you by bringing his fingers to his mouth and licking your nectar. Seeing that scene makes you aroused again, you bolt to the man's lips as he wraps you in his muscular arms making you feel so small in comparison, while you're stroking his erection again.

"I want to taste you," you tell him after a while, you are breathless but want to feel his huge erection on your tongue, you see him take a half step back giving you a chance to move and kneel in front of him. His erection towers in front of you and you find yourself moistening your lips, it's massive, you look at it through your eyelashes before tasting it with just the tip of your tongue in a quick bite. You see him close his eyes and breathe heavily through his nostrils, "You ready?" you ask, you see him nod and then you wrap it completely between your lips. You struggle to keep it all in your mouth, in fact you must help yourself with your hand in pumping his erection. His hands are in your hair, urging you to do more. It's wonderful to hear him moan and growl when you do something particularly good for him, you see him with his eyes closed and abandoned against the cockpit wall. His face is tense, and judging by the way he's gripping your hair, you're sure he's close.

"I want to come in your mouth," he moans.

"Come on, then." you encourage him, pushing his arousal away just enough so you can talk before resuming sucking and pumping until you feel streams of his hot seed in your mouth. Fuck, that's wonderful. You lick every drop of that nectar moaning yourself and hearing him moan discomposedly.

You look at him, "How d' you want me?" you ask without looking away from his eyes.

"On your knees, from behind," he replies, and fuck, that's your favorite position. You give him your back by getting on all fours, "I'm clean, but I have no condoms," he warns you.

"I'm on the pill and I'm clean too," you reassure him, "I want you to come inside me," you add looking over your shoulder, you see him pump his erection a couple of times, then finally he lines it up against your intimacy and pushes against you, his erection slowly enters you almost giving you the sensation of opening you in two, it's so good, you feel him touching points inside you never reached until that moment.

Moaning abandoning your head forward breathlessly, you feel his hands at the height of your hips to hold you still, then you feel him rotate his hips a couple of times sending discharges of pure lust into you, and then you feel him moving back and forth, you don't know how much you'll be able to hold on, you've never been so overstimulated as you are at this moment. You feel his balls cackle against your buttocks with increasing force, a sign that he must be close too, as one of his hands descends between your legs, seeking your clit. His finger makes quick, precise, circular movements on that little bundle of nerves making you gasp and see stars. Your moans become more and more choked until you feel again clearly warm liquid of his seed inside you and then only your short breaths to fill the cockpit.

He comes out from inside you pulling away, you sit first and then stand. It was the best fucking you have had in your entire life. You dress in silence, saying nothing to each other. Now reality is back to what it was before, you always late to your first sociolinguistics class and the stranger-- you don't know where he's headed, but you don't care.

Someone tells you that a few minutes and the elevator will start up again.

"Hope to see you again," he says, "Maybe on campus."

"In the elevator, maybe, for a second round," you propose with a lascivious smile buttoning your jacket and hearing the man smile.

"Or maybe in the room at my place," he proposes.

Yes, why not.

The cockpit with a little jolt starts up again, you hope to arrive at least by the end of class, you think as you look at your watch. You look for a moment longer at the man whose name you didn't even ask, nor he yours, then the doors open and you both exit to the fourth floor.

"'m going this way," he says, you nod.

"I'm going that way, I have class. Hope my professor'll understand."

"He'll understand, you'll see," he reassures you.

You exchange one more glance and then he leaves, you see him run a hand through his hair, and then you turn your back on him and walk toward the classroom. This one is already full, but of the mysterious Dr. Miller no sign. The students all look terrified; you, on the other hand, feel relaxed and think that after the incredible morning you've had, nothing can shock you. You open your bag, pick up your book, notebook and pen ready to take notes, when the unbelievable happens: the stranger, the man you just fucked and fucked you, appears in the classroom, you widen your eyes upon seeing him and your mouth almost reaches the floor when you see him reach the desk, roll up his shirt sleeves and turn his gaze toward the class.

"Mornin', I'm Dr. Miller. Your sociolinguistics teacher." he says introducing himself and looking at you students, then his gaze falls on you "I'll be here for the entire second semester, my office door is always open."

Shit, you're screwed.

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thelingodingo · 11 days

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Haikyuu Characters' Informal & Formal Speech

Something I find interesting about different languages and cultures regarding sociolinguistics is the entire idea of formality. Of course, there are ways to sound more formal/polite in English and ways to sound more informal/rude depending on word choice (synonyms). But with a language such as Japanese, it's the grammatical structure itself (verb endings, vocab) that changes to convey varying levels of formality.

An example would be:

大丈夫? (informal) vs 大丈夫ですか？(formal) = Are you ok?

daijoubu vs daijoubudesuka

これは本だ (informal) vs これは本です (formal) = This is a book.

korewahonda vs korewahondesu

In a school setting, the younger grades (kohai) will use formal speech with the older grades (senpai) as well as teachers: meaning 1st years will be formal to 2nd and 3rd years, 2nd years will be informal to 1st years but formal to 3rd years, and 3rd years can be informal to both 1st and 2nd years.

This is easily shown in basically any anime but this post will focus on Haikyuu since it's the one I'm most familiar with.

Karasuno: Kageyama and Tsukishima definitely hold a very high level of politeness towards their senpai as they always speak formally towards them and also always call them "full surname-san" (Azumane-san instead of Asahi-san, Sugawara-san instead of Suga-san, Sawamura-san instead of Daichi-san, Nishinoya-san instead of Noya-san). It makes sense for them since in general their personalities are quite strict and rigid. Hinata also speaks formally to his senpai but calls them by their more usual names (Daichi-san, Suga-san, etc) and he tends to forget to speak formally out of sheer excitement (not because he's trying to be rude) so he ends up adding on the formal desu copula to quickly change his informal sentence to be formal at the last second. You might think that Tanaka and Nishinoya are pretty relaxed when it comes to formalities due to their crasser personalities but I would actually say it's more the opposite. They're both characters that really like upholding the entire senpai-kohai relationship and it shows in that they are always respectful to the 3rd years and use formal speech (it's also shown in how they both loveee being called senpai and specifically Nishinoya's relationship with Asahi). They still call the 3rd years by their more common names so they aren't as rigid as Tsukki and Kageyama when it comes to names though. The scenes in season 1 when Noya and Asahi were fighting (specifically the storage room fight) were surprising in particular due to Noya changing to informal speech while arguing with Asahi (his senpai).

some other random formalities I've noticed in the other characters: as mentioned in the anime, Kenma doesn't like any of that hierarchy stuff which is why Hinata is able to continue comfortably speaking informally to him even though Kenma is a senpai. The shock and immediate apology of Hinata when he finds out Kenma is older than him is sensible in the cultural context since there are many people who would get quite offended and angry if a kohai were to be speaking informally towards them. Although Kenma is never shown directly talking to any 3rd years (other than Kuroo, which he speaks informally to since they're childhood friends), I assume he would still speak formally since even though he doesn't find formal speech necessary he would still be aware that others would care about it. When it comes to Mad Dog, a small part of me expected him to be completely informal to everyone since those kind of characters are usually like that in anime but he still keeps a pretty formal tone when talking to his senpais which pleasantly surprised me. As far as I remember watching season 4, I don't think the Miya twins use formal speech when talking to Aran. They don't call him Aran-san or anything either, just Aran-kun, which could be another example of childhood friends not needing formalities even with the age gap.

EDIT: i just remembered that Kageyama is so damn polite that he doesn't even differentiate between the Miya twins by their first names, he calls them both "Miya-san"!

If anybody wants a particular character/school to be discussed in detail then just send me an ask and I'll try!

side note: this post isn't proofread so if theres any mistakes or corrections in the info please tell me (✿◠‿◠)

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anarchotolkienist · 5 months

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I am on the side of supporting native speaking communities of Gaels in the Highlands and in the diaspora in part because I am extremely cynical about learners in the Lowlands and second-language acquisition in schools (basically, those of us who are able to learn the language to the point where we can live our lives in it can only do so by integrating with native speaking communities and people, and if they disappeared so would we - and those that are make up a very small percentage of learners), and I believe that if there is any hope for the continued survival of the languge and culture it has to come from the islands, so it makes good sociolinguistic sense.

But even if I was convinced of the most depressing view of the situation, even if I was convinced that those remaining native speaking communities are doomed to the dustbin of history, I would still support them. It's a matter of historical justice, of recognition not just to a culture but to individual people, to tell them that they mattered, that their lives mattered, that the suffering was real and so was resistance to it, and that the efforts made to keep the languge and the culture through the centuries in the face of the state, the settlers, the clearances, rolling famine, and the great hate of the Gall, that that mattered. And it mattered for something more than that it let some other Gall to take it and then shrug the islands off. If the Gaels are to die, then let them die in dignity and pride. Do not string up their corpse as a puppet and dance it for the benefit and joy of Scottish nationalism.

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red-hibiscus · 2 months

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BL characters I relate to most as a mentally ill gay trans man

Daisy from SCOY

Surprising no one, I, a trans person, relate to Daisy. They're outgoing and seemingly don't care about how people view them. They know they're visibly queer and they normally don't mind it (from what I see). But at the end of the day, society does affect them. They're hesitant to believe Touch genuinely cares and is attracted to them despite Touch being an absolute green flag who is very direct with his flirting. Even after, Daisy was worried about people would view their relationship with Touch and tried to become Day, a more masculine version of themself. Impossible of course and they broke down emotionally exhausted. I feel that so much because I also don't believe it when people, especially cis gay men, are attracted to me. I've caught myself trying to change my behavior to be more masculine (as I'm a bit on the nonbinary side of things). It's bad, but I know how Daisy feels.

Wang from 180 Degree Longtitude Passes Through Us

As a 26 year old trans gay immigrant in a country that doesn't want me, I have a shit ton of pent up anger that has been building up since I was a child. I've calmed down over the years, but I can still be stubborn and argumentative when it comes to politics and human rights. I'm also a linguistics major, thus an academic.

Wang is so much like myself and like a lot of people around me. Like me and Wang would be close friends irl I know it. We're young and stubborn. We're angry at the older conservative people around us, too much sometimes. So he lashes out. Many of his points are correct, but they're not hitting. Partially because the people he's talking to don't want to change, partially because he himself is stubborn. People like us yearn to be free, to be ourselves and to learn. Wang has a passion for the humanities like myself. Yet he knows society really only cares about STEM fields. I've compromised and am getting a master's in computational linguistics. Even though really I just wanna learn as much as I can about sociolinguistics.

Karl from Gaya Sa Pelikula

I haven't watched GSP in a hot minute, but I do remember feeling very seen.

So in the show Karl has his gay awakening, tries to internally and externally deny it, and eventually let himself be free to feel everything and be himself (at least in private).

Now I didn't have a gay awakening, but I guess you could say a trans awakening. In middle school I felt different, I suspected maybe some flavor of LGBT, but wasn't sure and I was too afraid to think about it too hard. Come high school I secretly wanted to join the LGBT club, but was afraid. Then I was essentially adopted into the LGBT club and dragged into the friend group during lunch because I was a loner like everyone else. At the time still "identified" as a cishet woman. As time went on people started to suspect. "Why are you in the club?", "why did you cut your hair", "why do you dress like that?", "your voice is low for a girl haha", etc. Much like Karl, I was not ready for any of that. I was still struggling to make sense of it all and come to terms with it myself. So I kept rejecting it and every time it hurt.

I kept rejecting it until I couldn't. Until someone I resonated with so much came out as trans and it clicked. My trans awakening was complete. I became able to be more myself, but only in private safe spaces. I wouldn't come out and live as a man until after high school and it was terrifying.

Adachi from Cherry Magic

I've only watched the jpn ver, but I'm sure that character remains the same.

I'm anxious and used to be quite shy. Now I'm just awkward. I'm really bad at seeing the good in myself cause I feel like I'm wandering around aimlessly in life. Not that impressive. So when people compliment me I think "haha they're just being nice" (refer back to me never believing people are actually attracted to me).

Adachi is the exact same. He has the same routine every day. Just going through the motions and not really thinking anything of himself. But then Kurosawa comes along and the ability to read minds. Adachi then realizes "wait, someone I respect so much actually loves me? And thinks I have a lot of good qualities? Makes me wanna cry." And me too Adachi. I'd be the same.

Jared from 7 Days Before Valentine

Jared, my precious baby, is described throughout the show as kind, but weird and different. We later learn that he has dyslexia, and honestly he seems to be somewhere on the autism spectrum. Even if he isn't, he has a behavioral difference people pick up on and then shun him for it.

I too was seen as kinda weird growing up. Maybe it was the autism, maybe it was the social anxiety. Probably both. And then of course there was the gnawing feeling that I was different than everyone else and it turns out it's because I'm trans.

So when Jared said that people didn't talk to him because he wasn't like other people it hit me so hard.

Myungha from Love For Love's Sake

The whole show is sad yet cathartic for me. Myungha is depressed yet spends his time comforting others. He has a hard time loving and receiving love. If you give him a fictional character who is very similar to him he will love them and see all the good, but he doesn't see it in himself. Relatable as hell.

I have an incredibly hard time being honest with my emotions and letting people love me and express attraction. Mostly in a romantic/sexual context. Dpdr is cockblocking me. So dating is hell, but I'm lonely and yearn to not be.

Probably if you put me in a situation like Myungha I'd also go "yep, that right there is my blorbo" and then not realize that all the things I like about the person and make me care about them are things I have.

Honorable mentions:

Both Akk and Ayan from The Eclipse

Nozue from Old Fashion Cupcake

Oh-Aew from I Told Sunset About You

Cher from A Boss and a Babe (I headcannon him as autistic)

Amber from DNA Says Love You

Uea from Bed Friend

Mitsuomi from Restart After Come Back Home

Jao from SCOY

Maybe I'll make another post for those later

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intheholler · 9 months

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i like what you said to the other anon, 'whos to say it's even misspelled? it's our language.' because as someone who loves languages and studies them in my freetime I've been saying stuff in that vein for years. Language is man made, and by men it will continue to be made and remade-- even in ways you don't like. You just have to get over it.

Idk why so many English speakers get so up their own ass about speaking 'proper english' even when what's being said is perfectly understandable. It's these people who turn their nose up at dialects typically associated with the poor, the marginalized, and the not-white and don't see any problem with it. Like do you actually care about the fact they spelled it 'dieing' or do you just want to take cheap shots at those backwards hillbilly redneck racists or whatever you think youre doing?

i also love languages and study them in my free time! i can talk myself blue in the face about capital L "Language" as much as i can about appalachia. how cool to meet you.

my passion for language joins forces with my love of the region and its dialect often, and it's why i find myself defending it this loudly.

like, i write for a living. i KNOW proper spelling and grammar. i have a fine grasp on it because they fuckin pay me for it.

and frankly, even though i know the "proper" way to say things, oftentimes i simply Do Not. why? appalachian dialect is easier, more natural to me.

its easier to say "them things" than "those things." it's easier to say "that" sans the "th-" when it follows a word ending in a consonant. "it don't matter" as opposed to "it doesn't matter" just feels better in my mouth. "ain't" is a word, because we speak this word and use it to communicate, and therefore it is so.

appalachians and southerners alike get accused of being lazy with our language, and so what? i love that our dialect reflects the slow way of mountain living, the freedom and ease that comes with it. it's a feature, as they say, not a bug.

sociolinguistics is absolutely a thing, as you know, so while that sort of thing gives me the liberty and wherewithal to speak in my dialect even though i """know better,""" unfortunately, there's a flipside. meaning i can't help but to think the answer to your question is in the latter half. no, they don't give a shit. but it makes them feel morally and intellectually superior over them damn uneducated hillbillies to tell us when we say shit or spell shit "wrong."

all the more reason for me to wanna do it.

this got long and out of hand. sorry. languages. appalachia. excitable. etc. thanks so much for this ask, i love the topic you introduced.

#asks #appalachian culture #appalachian dialect

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slicedblackolives · 7 months

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so parts of yakuza style speech are based on regional working-class accents, but class is definitely not the only thing that plays into it. speech styles in Japanese are pretty heavily gendered, and yakuza speech is very male/cocky sounding. on top of that, even people with regional accents wouldn't be walking around talking to people with the derogatory politeness level of stereotypical yakuza speech. the rolled r, for example, makes you sound pissed off. then you sprinkle in a bit of yakuza-specific slang and terminology on top of that. so it's kind of a mixture of a bunch of social factors that gets dialed up to 11 in movies

japanese sounds so fascinating for sociolinguists lmao

#asks #anonymous #my headcanon victor sounds like an absolute boomer hick in Japanese but has v fancy English Russian and French accents gets more and more #true every single day

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the-tenth-arcanum · 10 months

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15 Questions 15 Mutuals

Tagged by @emozionidinchiostro ages ago

1. Are you named after anyone? My dad wanted to give me his little sister's name as a middle name, and I did have it on some early pediatric reports when I was a baby, but it's not on any actual official document, so technically I do not have a middle name, even though my parents convinced me I did. I mentioned my unofficial middle name to some friends at school when I was around 12 or something, and it became my nickname forever. Everyone called me that. The friends I've kept in touch from back then still call me that. Even my mom has me saved under that name on her phone. But it's, like, only 3 people now. // tl;dr: kinda.

2. When was the last time you cried? I can't remember to be honest. This might come as a surprise to you guys but I'm not a big crier. I'm just sad and whiny.

3. Do you have kids? No and I don't want any.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot? I don't think so?

5. What sports do you play/have played? NONE, I suck at sports and have always hated playing them. I mean, I've tried a few but never for any significant amount of time.

6. What's the first thing you notice about people? Whether they're nice/friendly, I guess. If someone is kind to me I will fall in love with them. I love kind people.

7. What's your eye color? Dark brown. I-almost-can't-make-out-your-pupil kind of brown.

8. Scary movies or happy endings? Neither? Happy endings if I have to choose, but I like drama. (I mean, comedy too, big fan. But sometimes you just want to watch a film that makes you think about the human condition and despair, you know?)

9. Any special talents? Misplacing things. Forgetting about events in the recent past. Petting cats.

10. Where were you born? Italy.

11. What are your hobbies? Not doing a lot these days to be honest :( Fannish activities (fanfic writing and the like). I'm in a funky pop-rock choir which I attend semi-regularly. I have attempted to learn Spanish at various points in my life and failed miserably, not always for reasons within my control (I enrolled on a Spanish course organised by the local library a while ago, and the teacher quit after my first term. He had been there for years. But I think the main issue is that after studying Russian for 5 years at uni, I look at Spanish and think, "surely it won't be that hard". And then I just... don't study it. I think I can learn it by osmosis or something, just by virtue of being Italian. Which doesn't fucking work).

12. Do you have pets? Not currently. I had a cat. I shall have one again some day.

13. How tall are you? About 168 cm.

14. Favorite subject in school? Italian Lit always, and in later years (high school) Latin and English Lit. At uni — I think English phonetics & phonology, weirdly enough; also pragmatics and anything related to sociolinguistics.

15. Dream job? Something to do with creative writing, in an ideal world. Or even "just writing", but not the kind that makes me want to kms (don't ask). Copywriter or radio scriptwriter both sound cool.

No pressure tagging: @nevergonnasaygoodbi @sapphicdragonlord @ayebydan @marki9 @yeetthedragon @valsansretovr @groundbreakingdot872 @vi-visected @crunchy-soup222 @fuckyeahsnackables

(ETA: sorry it's not 15 people and it's not even all mutuals, which I think was the point of the game, but *turns around and starts running away*)

#tagging memes #*

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