#southern dialect

[intheholler]

Do you think you could petition your followers for something? I'd like to learn more about the influence of AAVE from the South on the spectrum of all Southern dialects. I'm sure some of the people who follow this blog are knowledgeable about the subject.

hell yeah i love me some sociolinguistic stuff and definitely don't know my shit enough to contribute meaningfully to the topic myself SO as asked, if anyone has any insight/interesting sources they want to share, please please do

(thanks for all of your interesting asks lately btw, appreciate you)

[tani-b-art]

PBS' Zora Neale Hurston: Claiming a Space

[tricornonthecob]

I need y'all to un'erstand that when I write in dialect for ATNH, I am physically restrainin' m'self t'not channel either Squidbillies or Lil' Bubby Child.

[canisalbus]

I just recently started following you so i don't have the full lore of your murderous gay religiously traumatized doggos, BUT, from my understanding, they are Italian and i don't know what part of Italy they are from, yet i can't help headcanoning Vasco as Tuscan, while Machete is probably from some part of Veneto. And as an Italian who has heard Tuscans and Veneto dialet, well it's an hilarious mental image.

Vasco is indeed Tuscan, Florentine to be specific. He comes from a wealthy and influential noble family that has lived in Florence for centuries. He's proud of his roots, and it's usually easy for strangers to tell where he's from. He's a resonably successful politician and has worked as an ambassador and representative of Florence on numerous occasions.

Machete is originally Sicilian (ironically about as far from Veneto as possible), although he was taken to mainland at young age and has lived in several places since then, before ending up in Rome. The way I see it, he exhibits very little local color, his demeanor and (even though Italian hadn't become a standardized language yet) way of speaking are formal, neutral and scarcely give away any hints about his personal history, at least in the 16th century canon.

[bedlamsbard]

every day I am shocked the Midwest accent is real

[heretherebedork]

The problem with Mut is that he is a MAME seme and that means he is both absolutely perfect (when he is not with his love interest before they get together) and then an absolute ass with his love interest (before they get together). Which creates an unpleasant dichotomy that makes me uncomfortable because it is basically 'people who are good to others but awful to you are just in love with you and will only get better if you trust them!' and like... I hate it.

[morurui]

Was going to complain that Darius doesn’t say the word “like” enough as a Californian…but then I remembered he’s from Nor Cal and not So Cal…

[r-0-x-4-s]

WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN THAT ROMANO CANONICALLY SPEAKS NEAPOLITAN

ITS BEEN ALMOST 20 YEARS SINCE HE WAS CREATED AND U REVEAL IT NOW

[catwouthats]

My favorite thing about the Deadpool and Wolverine movie is that EVERYONE has a distinct voice filled with personality and their history.

Not just Gambit, everyone

Gambits might be the “most obvious” or most talked about, but GOD I LOVE ALL THE DIFFERENT DIALECTS AND SLANG. AND SHIT IN THIS MOVIE

THINK OF HOW BLADE SPEAKS COMPARED TO WADE COMPARED TO LAURA COMPARED TO CASSANDRA AND AHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

There are so many different cultures, histories, and personal stories/explanations packed in to everyone’s voices.

[unclewaynemunson]

Scott was just about to go to bed when he heard the familiar sound of the front door unlocking. He froze right where he was standing, at the top of the stairs, flooded by thoughts of burglars or angry neighbors who had found out or the police – no, wait, the police wouldn't do that, it wasn't illegal anymore to...

'Scott?'

He sighed in relief. It was just Wayne, of course.

It only took him a moment to register that that was odd, too. What was Wayne doing here when he had kissed Scott goodbye to leave for his night shift only an hour ago?

He pulled the dressing gown he was wearing over his pajamas tighter around his waist and rushed down the stairs to find his partner standing in the middle of the hallway, in his work clothes and with his forehead creased into a deep frown.

By now, Scott knew Wayne well enough that he could easily decipher his every micro-expression.

Other people, who didn't know Wayne like Scott did, would probably not notice a thing, but Scott saw it immediately: something was wrong.

'Did I wake ya?' Wayne asked when Scott reached the bottom of the stairs.

'No, I wasn't even in bed yet,' Scott hurried himself to say. He rushed forward and placed his hands on Wayne's shoulders, meticulously taking in the look on his face. 'What happened?'

'They fired me.'

Scott felt his jaw drop. 'Wh- you've been working there for, what, fifteen years?'

'Eighteen.'

'They can't –' he started in an indignant voice, but cut himself off before he could really get started. If Wayne had needed a reaction like that, he would've gone home, to Eddie. He probably came to Scott because he needed calmness and a listening ear. So that was what Scott would give him.

'Come with me, love,' he said, gently guiding Wayne into the living room. It was one of the only classical pet names they both felt comfortable using. Even after a year, give or take, Scott still got filled with wonder whenever he let it roll off his tongue. 'Why don't we sit down first?'

They sank down on the couch, Scott with his arms wrapped around Wayne in a comforting embrace.

'I been workin' there for eighteen years,' Wayne repeated, slowly shaking his head, as if he had a hard time believing it himself. 'Been loyal to them ever since I came back from 'Nam. Always kept my head down, always did what they asked of me, always filled in their shifts at the most ungodly hours. I had a mouth to feed, you know. I had my boy to take care of. Never complained, never even called in sick, not once in all those years.'

Scott realized that he had never seen Wayne angry before. It took until now for him to find out that even Wayne's anger was calm and collected and he tightened his grip around Wayne's shoulders.

'They told me I been absent too often this year,' he continued, with the slightest tremble underneath the calmness of his voice. 'Can you believe that? My boy went missing. He was gone for a whole week, people sayin' the most terrible stuff 'bout him. And he came back to me broken. I needed to do everything I could to help him. That's my job. That's always gonna be my first and most important job. Everything I ever did was only for Eddie. Not for them, never. And they had the guts to tell me I ain't got the “right priorities.”' He spat out those last words, finally allowing himself to get visibly worked up about it.

'That's what they said?'

'Made me sound like I was lazy, like I been slacking off. Those bastards.'

They continued to sit in silence for a while. Scott listened to the clock on the wall behind them, invisibly ticking away the seconds and minutes Wayne needed to come back to himself.

'They probably can't fire you just like that,' Scott finally said. 'I don't think they're allowed to do that; you should take a look at your contract to check.'

Wayne scoffed. 'And what then? Spend the income I don't have no more on some lawyer who ain't gonna help me anyway?'

Oftentimes, when it was only the two of them, shielded away from the outside world together, it was easy to forget how different they actually were. But right now, the obvious differences of their circumstances came crashing down on them like a painful hailstorm: Wayne had lost his job and his fears of not being able to make ends meet anymore were more real and valid than Scott could probably imagine.

He squeezed Wayne's shoulder to make clear to him that he understood.

'You're good at what you do, Wayne,' he continued in a soft voice. 'Your hands are pure magic, you can fix anything. You'll find a new job in no time. Maybe this was a good thing; you'll be able to find something that makes you happy.'

'Somethin' that makes me happy?' Wayne echoed, a disbelieving, almost defiant look in his eyes that made him look more like his nephew than ever. 'Scott.' He said his name fondly, but there was something underneath it, something that almost sounded like pity. 'Folk like me... We don't get that luxury. We live paycheck to paycheck. I miss one, I got a problem. A big one. If I was gonna allow myself to have dreams, I'd need a loan, and sure as hell no bank is gonna hand out money to someone who lives in Forest Hills.'

Wayne had told him, once, how he used to dream of starting his own company, getting himself a van filled with tools and making a name for himself as Hawkins' most reliable handyman. He had told Scott how impossible that dream turned out to be when you were named Munson, had no high school diploma and no one to vouch for you – and how that dream had officially died when his nephew showed up on his doorstep with nothing but a change of clothes and a rumbling stomach.

They had never talked about it since. Scott knew that Wayne wouldn't want it to sound like Eddie had come between him and his dream, that it wasn't like that at all, that Eddie easily was the best thing that ever happened to him, even if it meant working nights at the plant until his death.

'What if you got yourself an investor?' Scott tried to keep his voice light.

'Scott.' It sounded like there was a warning in Wayne's voice – like he knew exactly what plan Scott had in mind and like he would never even consider it.

'I'm serious about it!'

'I ain't gonna be your charity case.'

'That's not what this is,' Scott protested. 'It'd be a loan, because I believe in you and because I want you to live your dream. You deserve it. I have the income to provide for a whole family, and for years, my only family member has been a well-behaved snake who doesn't ask for much. I'm not suggesting to provide for you, I know you wouldn't want that. I'm just... offering you a way out. Because I care about you.'

Wayne sighed heavily. He switched in Scott's arms, leaned closer towards him to place a gentle kiss against his lips.

'I love you,' he said. 'I ain't takin' your money.'

Scott sighed, too. He could've seen this one coming, of course; Wayne Munson and his damn pride.

'Alright, then. You wanna stay here for the night?' he asked, knowing it would be pointless to continue the conversation.

'You can go to bed,' Wayne answered. 'I ain't tired yet. Was counting on workin' till sunup, remember,' he added darkly.

Scott hummed, pulled Wayne closer towards himself. 'You can still keep me company, now that you're here anyway. I don't have to go to sleep right away,' he said in a low voice, shooting Wayne a meaningful glance to make sure he wouldn't miss the hidden meaning behind those words. 'And you should allow yourself some rest.' He pressed his lips against Wayne's. 'Maybe we could try and get you out of that night owl rhythm, now that you don't need it anymore. Means we finally get to spend more than one hour a night in bed together.' He placed another kiss at Wayne's temple, one that seemed to persuade him, judging by the way he finally started to let himself melt into Scott's touches.

'Alright, I'll come upstairs with you,' he murmured. 'Remind me to call Eddie in the morning.'

'Hey.' Scott stretched out his hand and let his fingers glide over the crease between Wayne's eyebrows, as if he could simply wipe all his worries away in one single sweep. 'We'll figure something out. I'm not letting you struggle with this all by yourself. You're not alone in this world anymore; better get used to that, love.'

Wayne didn't say anything, but Scott hadn't really expected him to, anyway. He just hoped that his words would stick with Wayne until the morning.

---

It was one of those beautiful sunny days and both Scott and Steve were over at the trailer, enjoying a simple lazy afternoon with not much going on except for soaking up the warm sunlight together and listening to the birds that were singing their hearts out in the trees at the edge of the woods. It was peaceful – but not peaceful enough for Wayne to forget about his money issues. The steel factory preferred strong young guys over old men like Wayne and the mechanic didn't currently need any new employees. If he didn't find something within two weeks, he might not be able to make rent. He kept shooting worried glances at Eddie, afraid that the boy might notice his fretting. He didn't want him to worry yet, needed to find some way out by himself before Eddie would realize how tight their money was; preferably one that wouldn't involve some sort of humiliating dependence on his partner.

'C'mon, I need to show you something,' said Eddie in a hushed voice, startling him from his brooding.

Slightly confused, Wayne followed him, leaving Scott and Steve in each other's company on the porch.

'Everythin' alright?' he asked Eddie when they were out of earshot of the two other men.

Eddie shot him a wide, excited grin. 'Couldn't be better,' he said. 'You see that van over there? That's yours. I raised some money to get you to start your own company.'

'Oh hell no,' Wayne answered immediately, a hollow feeling settling in his chest. 'I'm an honest man, you know I ain't takin' your damn drug money.'

Eddie gasped, dramatically clutching at his heart. 'First of all, rude,' he said, 'and second, it's not my money; man, I wish selling drugs would pay that well.'

Wayne's eyes flashed over Eddie's head, towards Scott, who was animatedly talking to Steve, waving his arms around the way he always did when something got him all excited. He suppressed a smile at the sight and tried to look stern and annoyed when he focused his attention back to Eddie.

'Did Scott set you up to this?'

And Eddie got that way too innocent look in his eyes that was telling Wayne all he needed to know within a second.

'No...' he said. 'It's actually, um – Steve's parents. Who wanted to invest in your business.'

Wayne crossed his arms in front of his chest, giving his nephew the most intimidating glare he could muster.

'Steve's parents, huh?'

'Yeah.' Eddie nodded vigorously, still all wide-eyed.

'They came around to their son bein' a queer and dating trailer trash, and decided to invest in his piss poor father-in-law's business?'

'Hmhm, yep.' More fervent nodding.

'Well, I guess I should go congratulate the boy, then.'

Wayne started walking back towards the trailer and got exactly what he expected:

'No! Okay, they didn't – it's Steve's college money, alright? He still had access to it, and he doesn't wanna go to college anyway, and we both wanted to spite his parents – it was the perfect setup! And he didn't pay for everything, alright?' Something gentler crossed over Eddie's face. 'Everybody chipped in with whatever they could spare. A couple of bucks for an advertisement in the paper, a nice new screwdriver set, some unused tools that the Wheelers found in their garage...'

Wayne felt a lump in his throat at those words. He didn't have to ask who Eddie meant by “everybody” – he knew exactly who had been there for his boy when Eddie most needed people to have his back. Over the past year, all those kids had become like family to Wayne as well.

'Okay, and yeah, maybe there also was an anonymous investor who believes in you and wants you to be happy,' Eddie admitted. 'Look, they all love you, man. You gave them – us – a place where we could feel safe. Where we could be ourselves. And you can't –' tears were appearing in Eddie's eyes now, 'you can't express any of that in money, you know. So just – just be grateful, okay?' He took a quick breath to recollect himself and Wayne politely pretended like he didn't notice.

'We already got you the van, Will designed a logo with me, it's already on it, and it looks really cool – even if I say so myself. Look, if you can't accept it out of love, can you at least accept it out of spite for Steve's parents?'

Wayne abruptly pulled Eddie towards him and wrapped him up in a brusque embrace, ruffling his hair and patting his back.

'I love you, Ed.'

It wasn't something he said often. He tried, especially since everything that happened last year, since he almost lost his Eddie, but it was still difficult, to say such powerful words out loud. It didn't come naturally for him. He preferred showing it rather than saying it. But he had learned that it sometimes needed to be said.

'Love you too, man,' Eddie murmured, squeezing him tightly in response.

---

When the evening fell and Steve and Eddie had left to go out for burgers at the diner across town, Wayne walked up to Scott, who was already rummaging around in the trailer's tiny kitchen about to cook up something delicious. He caught his partner's attention by placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, and Scott looked back at him with a vaguely distracted look in his eyes.

'You are an evil man, Scott Clarke.'

And Wayne could see that Scott immediately understood what he was referring to; the lines around his eyes deepened as he started smiling that slightly mischievous smile Wayne loved so much.

'Why? Because I want you to be happy?'

'Cause you went and exploited my weakness. You know I can never say no to Eddie.'

Scott's smile widened.

'So... Are you mad at me?'

Wayne huffed. He wrapped his arms around Scott's waist, tugged him closer, tightened his grip when an adorably surprised sound escaped from Scott's throat.

'Thank you,' he said.

And Scott started beaming like the goddamn sun before he leaned in to press his lips against Wayne's.

[intheholler]

Hi, sorry if this is a weird message but I just wanted to say how much I appreciate your blog.

I've never been to the appalachia region but I was born in Mississippi and only lived there for like 3 years before we moved. My mom was a travel nurse so we moved every year or two and I really loved living like that and being able to live in tons of different places but part of me is really upset that I never really belonged to a specific place.

When I was younger, I was thankful for not growing up in the south. I always heard other people talk about it, how it was nothing but inbred hillbillies and how everyone talked in a weird drawl and I was glad I never picked up the accent.

But now I'm so, so upset about it. I have a very slight accent sometimes and say y'all and ain't a lot but it's definitely not recognizable as a southern accent.

I want to sound like that, but it feels wrong to try and talk with that accent now, because my family doesn't sound like that and I don't live in the south anymore. Even though I was born there, it still feels like I'm not from there, you know? Like I would be stealing something that's not mine.

It just sucks. Especially when I hear people constantly talk shit about the south and how everyone there is stupid and ugly and racist and evil and it's like, ''Oh. Maybe if I lived there a few more years they would hate me like that too."

A lot of time I see people talking about how much it sucks to grow up in a certain culture, but I never see people talk about how much it sucks to grow up without a specific culture(s).

The worst thing is when people ask where I'm from or where I grew up, and I don't know what I'm supposed to say.

So thank you for your blog. I know the south and appalachia are different, with different cultures and climates and people, but it still makes me feel like I can experience something I never got to.

hi there. this is not weird at ALL.

its a topic very near to my heart really. thanks so much for sharing your story not only because it's yours and i want to know it, but because it resonates with me SO hard, and i don't really talk to anyone who was constantly on the move as a kid and questions their identity because of it.

long post below, as is usually the case with me and this subject.

first i wanna say: i agree that the deep south and appalachia are certainly unique from one another, but to me, they share more similarities than they do differences. your story only cements that in my mind.

we have similar politics, are embarrassed by similar stereotypes, have shameful collective histories. we have similar flavors of self-work and unlearning to do. even the accents overlap.

we also know the same struggle of trying to be louder than our region, how it feels to have our individual voices swallowed up by people who don't want to hear it because they've already decided what they think about us as if we are some monolith.

what i mean is you definitely belong in this community, and i'm so glad you are here!

now for the emotional bits: i hate making these sorts of asks about me, but i sometimes feel at a loss as how else to communicate my empathy in this specific situation.

i just hope my experience can extend a sense of solidarity and understanding to how you're feeling, as mine mirrors your own very closely. i can seriously like feel the pain radiating off of this ask and i just want you to feel seen and heard.

"The worst thing is when people ask where I'm from or where I grew up, and I don't know what I'm supposed to say."

this kicked me in the stomach, because same. it's why being "from appalachia" is so integral to my identity. i'm not from a town or even a state. all i have is the region.

i've talked about this before on here, but my dad was a contractor, and we moved every year or two as well. the longest i stayed in one town was three years, and it happened only once.

i agree that moving around a lot was good in some ways, but, like you, it left me without a sense of belonging.

looking back as an adult, i realize how badly all of that moving fucked me up. i don't have a hometown in the traditional sense. i'm not "from" anywhere.

a lot of my childhood belongings i no longer have because everything seemed to get lost in the moves. i feel like i am scattered across a region, and i am nowhere.

its so bad that, as silly as it is, i get irrationally upset at something as innocent as when i am with someone who has lived in a place most of their life, and they can easily give directions there because they know the place so well. i can't do that with anywhere and so i feel bitter.

i myself moved around consistently in appalachia/the south, though, so i still grew up in the area, as generally as one could. so i also spent most of my late childhood and preteen yearsgetting rid of the accent. i didn't want to sound "stupid" or be lumped in with the racists and the stereotypes of the region.

i thought it made me better than other kids who spoke with the accent, because back then, i hadn't started the self-work i have since undergone and ripped all that hateful internalized bullshit up.

i regret it every day now that i'm learning to love where i'm from--appalachia and the south as a region. i regret ever buying into what i was told about myself and getting rid of all markers of it.

i get it, anon. i really do and i love you and i'm sorry.

THIS IS ALL TO SAY VERY VERY LOUDLY:

you. are. from. there.

you were born in the south. you was raised by a presumably southern family. even if you wasn't, they had to take pieces of mississippi with them. culture is not a static thing--it goes where you go.

you can't steal what's already yours. the accent is yours to use. it feels awkward in your mouth when you try to get it back but that's just because it needs to get comfortable in there again. it doesn't mean you're faking or stealing. it means you are reconnecting, and reunions can sometimes be a little awkward.

don't hold yourself up to rigid standards or fall victim to any gatekeeping, outward or inward. only you get to define who you are, and it seems like you know who that is supposed to be.

i hope you can start to feel a little more at home in your identity. i know what a special hell it is. thank you so so much for being here <3333

[calabria-mediterranea]

Calabrian Proverb: "simu cumbinati comu i santi 'i Rriggiu" (in Calabrian dialect)

Siamo ridotti come i santi reggini. (in Italian)

We’ve been reduced to such a state, like the saints in Reggio. (in English)

This proverb refers to the historical vandalism committed by Ottoman Turks and Barbary pirates, who defaced religious paintings and chopped the heads off of and otherwise damaged sculptures in Reggio Calabria, Italy.

At the San Paolo Museum, in Reggio Calabria, amongst the many paintings, San Michele che uccide il drago (St. Michael Killing the Dragon), a large image on a wooden panel stands out for both the beauty of the work and its history. Dating from 1470, this painting of Saint Michael the Archangel was for many years attributed to Antonello da Messina. For this reason, the piece was analyzed in great detail. Even though it was determined not to be of the hand of the renowned artist, which is of no great surprise, the physical state of the image was studied more than perhaps it otherwise would have been.

At first glance, coming across this painting in a museum, you might just think that due to its more than 500-year existence, a little paint had chipped off here and there. However, the damage to the saint’s face has actually been ascribed to historical vandalism. In the 16th century, Reggio suffered terribly from attacks by Ottoman Turks and Barbary pirates. These invaders defaced, literally, religious paintings and chopped the heads off of and otherwise damaged sculptures. Thus, Saint Michael the Archangel suffered from this collateral damage.

Today, these events might seem like ancient history. However, their memory is still very much alive in the common saying in the local dialect:

Simu cumbinati comu i santi 'i Rriggiu

Follow us on Instagram, @calabria_mediterranea

[psychicfoxpainter]

I'm a 'Simon Blackquill is a Northerner' truther

i mean the easy joke is that he wears Newcastle colours, but in truth?

I think he's just got the air of a Yorkshireman about him - quiet, a bit dour at times, and no-nonsense

(I am 100% behind British Blackquill, because I think so much fanon makes him meaner than he is. He's just being a wind-up merchant.)

[ryansjane]

no, actually my least favorite thing about watching thai dramas while speaking & understanding thai... is that the dialects never match up 😭😭😭 if a character is from a non-central province, they'll have their whole family speak in northern/southern/isaan dialect while the main character, who's played by an actor from bangkok, will unexplainably not have any remnants of his native dialect when he speaks even though he was born & raised in the area and often time never even left... that shit breaks the fourth wall to me, like... why even hire an actor who doesn't fit the role fully, I don't get it 😭

[unhonestlymirror]

In the Belaruthian language and in some Northern Ukrainian dialects, перевертень/пярэварацень - "a turnskin/a werewolf" - is a synonym for a very cunning person who quickly adapts and easily changes his morals and behaviour for the sake of his subordinates as well as his own benefit, a hypocrite but rather with a positive connotation. Often found in descriptions of famous rulers such as Usiasłaŭ the Sorcerer and different Lithuanian Dukes, such a word carries a double, ironic meaning in addition to the usual "he was feared and respected".

[rochenn]

Funniest thing about accents is when you can not just tell what country the speaker is from but also what region. Local dialects shining through when ppl speak a foreign language is so so beautiful