Many moons ago, due to years of essay writing (which discouraged contraction use), everything I wrote was almost disturbingly formal, but in a very awkward way. I'd broken the worst of the habit by my fourth month in fandom because nothing beats reading your own porn dialogue coming out as a cross between Beowulf Does Dallas and Travails of a Misunderstood Penis on Crusade (Abridged) to really bring home no one should sound like that during sex. But let me tell you, dragging out your Mallory and your Canterbury for, of all Godforsaken things, research just totally brings it all back and I spent a lot of time find/replacing last night when all my dialogue was uncontracted and then going back to twitch myself into some kind of fit when I unironically had some kind of thing going on that sounded like I was trying to channel Cicero by way of Hustler. And I hated Cicero the first and only time I read him. I also don't remember any of it (I do not pretend I can read Latin. Maybe he's more interesting in his native tongue? Could happen), but I'm suspicious when "and showeth to me your manhood" starts creeping into my brain as a reasonable thing and making me want bleach like whoa. Also, showeth is not a word. I have no fucking clue where that's coming from. Maybe the land of badfic.
Also fighting off the urge to use "verily", "yea", and "forsooth". Forsooth, for the love of God. Forsooth.*
This just cannot end well, can it? It's not even pretentious. It's sad. It's really, really sad.
Seriously, if I pull that in a fic, mock my ass. God knows I'm getting worried now what I'm actually not noticing that should die in a fire.
*page ten. Totally unironic. Someone take away my Book of the Courier or this is going to just get worse.