#vituperation!

[belletroxa]

WHAT YHE FUCK DO YOY MEAN YOU CAN ONLY REACH 30 TAGS IN TUMBLR THIS IS AN OUTRAGE

[idiotcoward]

Vituperate - Dies Mail

An absolutely solid tech death metal album. You can absolutely tell these guys are huge fans of the genre. The guitars are super chuggey and the drums are going at about 5,000 bpm. The vocals are probably my favorite part. It’s that classic death metal growl that sounds more like clearing a throat then any clear lyrics but I’m sure whatever he’s saying is beautiful because I know I love the way what he’s saying sounds.

[fideidefenswhore]

What was Anne Boleyn like as a stepmother? I keep seeing conflicting stuff and I don't want to feel unjustified hatred to wards a historical figure. (It's also important to me because I had a very rough relationship with my step mother and I hate how the evil step mum trope is used for historical figures.)

I don't want to sound blunt or rude; but it's really only your business, whether you admire AB or not? It's not for me to tell you what to do.

If you're asking my opinion, I don't believe she was a "good stepmother" (not to Mary, anyway...although, ironically, Mary herself would not have viewed her as her 'stepmother', it seems AB was a fair to middling one to Fitzroy, maybe even better than that when you consider her involvement in his marriage and his favor by Henry VIII during her queenship, although that could also be co/incidental, since he seemed to be high in his father’s favor before Anne became a significant figure, too); but I also don't think she had the chance or opportunity to be one in her circumstances.

As for the parenthetical, I don't want to invalidate your personal experiences, but, I do want to...gently point out that regardless of your final feelings on AB, there really is no modern equivalent to the Great Matter, (what Henry viewed as) the English succession crisis 1527-37, and all of the subsequent fallout of these events, not to mention mores of the time of fatherhood, kinship, the duties of daughters, the concept of sacrosanct and near-wholly bought into monarchy, dynastic power struggles, the English Reformation...

(That’s not to say the emotions involved in these interpersonal conflicts were not real, it’s just to say that they played out on this highly-charged landscape/background of politics, religion, treason, martyrdom, threats of excommunication, military intervention and interdict of trade, etc...)

And that's not to absolve or excuse Anne's behavior or actions when it comes to her role as stepmother, but it's just to say they're only understandable (understandable as in literally, comprehensible, not necessarily moral) within those contexts.

So, all that being said, there’s an array of academic opinion on this topic. One can find the ultimate weight of the responsibility given to Anne among historians such as Anna Whitelock and David Starkey, or pop historians such as Alison Weir and Melita Thomas (and the complete absolving of Henry from the latter of the latter group, which I find egregious)...controversially, I believe the most moderate assessment of evidence on this subject comes from Eric Ives (”ranting, not thinking”, etc., I might post some relevant quotes later); Loades was also pretty fair-handed on this subject (but not others); and the most apologist from Retha Warnicke (but then, RW discredits Chapuys as source material entirely, which I don’t subscribe to). 

It would be quite the long project, but if you’re truly interested, I might look into compiling a masterlist of sorts of all relevant primary source quotes on this topic (most, but not all, are Chapuys, there are rarely corroborating reports by other sources, but contradictions are also rare, tbf). There is one infamous report that I believe, for several reasons (one being that there are no developments given of the allegation), might have been mistranslation or spelling error (if you’re familiar, this is the one of February 1534). 

[leam1983]

I... don't entirely agree, but it's because of circumstances outside of my control.

See, I'm disabled, and my local Transit Authority's long had a Paratransport Service program in place for cripples like me. You register for the Short Bus service and then call ahead of any planned travels to schedule a ride. In practice, this means they should be able to deduct your transport fees from your account, but the feature is listed as Pending for Montreal's Transit Authority - and has been listed as such for the last twenty years on their website.

So, what do I have to do?

I have to schlep my crippled ass to the closest subway terminal to purchase a wad of tickets, which are not at the same rate as standard bus-ride tickets, which I also need. Then, I need to ignore all the snazzy tech able-bodied bus users have at their disposal and carry a wad of paper titles around that I frequently forget to replenish, because who the fuck wants to drive halfway across town just for fucking bus tickets?!

For five years, we had the option to purchase a USB-powered card reader that never worked as intended. For fifteen years, they've been saying they want to implement NFC tech seeing as everyone has a goddang cell phone, nowadays - but no. A Tech student hacks up an app that enables you to charge your card using your phone's own NFC point? Cease and Desist, we'll instead copy your design and hand it off to a commissioned firm for big bucks, and it won't ever fucking work as intended.

See my problem? I need a layer of convenience. I am not going to drive my way across town for fucking bus tickets my dog could chew through if I'm not careful.

Screw Boomers, this is an instance where the tech would honestly save my fucking day.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

words for when your characters ______

Agree

accede, acceptance, accord, acknowledgment, acquiescence, align, avowal, bear, cohere, compromise, consent, contract, draft, enlist, give in/give up, go along/go along with, grant, negotiate, unanimous, yield

Deny

abjure, abuse, affront, attack, backstab, bad-mouth, belie, blacken, blemish, confront, curse, darn, defamation, defile, demur, denigrate, detract, dig, disclaim, discountenance, disgrace, disown, disparagement, downplay, explode, flout, fulminate, gainsay, gird, invective, jeer, lament, lecture, malign, minimize, mouth, needle, oppose, protest, put down, put-down, rebuff, refute, remonstrate, renunciation, run down, satirize, scold, show up, sit-in, slander, smear, snap, snub, squeal, sully, swearing, taunt, tirade, turn, underestimate, vituperation, write off, yammer

Explain

account for, admit, apprise, cite, clarify, come clean, concede, confirm, corroborate, defense, demonstrate, dilate, elucidate, enlighten, evidence, expand, explicate, gloss, illustrate, itemize, let on, palliate, plea, prove, recite, simplify, speak out/speak up, spell out, translator, warrant

Fabricate

aspersion, belie, disprove, profane

Inform

acknowledge, address, advertise, allow, allusion, apprise, bare, betrayal, blab, breathe, briefing, broadcast, chronicle, clue, come out with, confession, convey, debunk, define, detail, dictate, divulge, expose, feature, furnish, give, gossip, hint, intimate, issue, lecture, newscaster, orate, out of the closet, pass, post, proclaim, promulgate, publication, publish, release, reveal, show up, speak, spill, squeal, talk, tip, uncover, unveil, weatherperson, whisper

Instruct

bar, educate, prescribe

Persuade

advance, argument, bend, budge, carry, coerce, convince, discourage, draw, drum up, elicit, entice, forward, goad, hammer away/hammer into, induce, influence, invite, lobby, motivate, negotiation, pitch, prevail upon/prevail on, prompt, reason, spur, sway, urge, win/win over

Promise

assurance, avow, commitment, ensure, go back/go back on, oath, portend, vouch, warrant, word

Suggest

advice, advocate, ask, come up with, connote, drum into, exhort, fish for, get at, guide, imply, insinuate, moralize, move, nomination, pontificate, preach, propose, recommend, urge

Praise

accent, acclamation, accredit, adulation, apotheosis, applause, benediction, bless, champion, citation, commend, compliment, congratulations, credit, dedicate, deify, elevate, endorse, eulogize, exalt, extol, flatter, flattery, glorify, homage, laud, lionize, obsequy, plaudits, puff, salute, thanks, tribute, worship

Warn

admonish, alert, caution, caveat, defy, enjoin, exhortation, foreboding, foretell, page, remind, warning

NOTE

The above are concepts classified according to subject and usage. It not only helps writers and thinkers to organize their ideas but leads them from those very ideas to the words that can best express them.

It was, in part, created to turn an idea into a specific word. By linking together the main entries that share similar concepts, the index makes possible creative semantic connections between words in our language, stimulating thought and broadening vocabulary.

Source ⚜ Writing Basics & Refreshers ⚜ On Vocabulary

[rausule]

Rail v. Ra_ile Latynse, gaan toe Die concboy het teen die heiningreling geleun: horisontale steun, staaf, reling, versperring, heining, leuning. 2 Ek is bang om te vlieg - ek verkies om per spoor te gaan: spoorweg, spoorlyn, trein, Archaic US. die karre. Hy was altyd besig om teen die regering te praat: uiter, inveigh, fulminate, spreek hard, afkeur, skel, praat kwaad, verhef 'n mens se stem, vituperate, rant, rant en rave, woed; skree mishandel, aanvat, aangaan; skree, kners op die tande, skuim om die mond, verhoog 'n tint en huil, Slang 'n teef, blaas op, blaas 'n mens se stapel. horizontal support, bar, railing, barrier, fence, banister. vociferate, inveigh, fulminate, speak harshly, declaim, scold, talk angrily, raise one's voice, vituperate, rant, rant and rave, rage; shout abuse, take on, carry on; scream, gnash one's teeth, foam at the mouth, raise a hue and cry, Slang pitch a bitch, blow up, blow one's stack.

[zenosanalytic]

what's even funnier is that these just-as-irrational-as-everyone-else-but-deeply-unread-in-history peeps have now moved on to pretending this WASN'T that big a deal in the movement, really, while STILL scaremongering and fundraising around AI for reasons that sound remarkably similar to this.

it never stops being funny to me how dumb of a thought experiment Roko’s Basilisk is and how many people who think of themselves as very smart had breakdowns over it

[shotbyshe]

Words of the Day

unsung:  Not honored or praised; uncelebrated.

invective: 

Denunciatory or abusive language; vituperation. 

A denunciatory or abusive expression or discourse. 

Vehement denunciation; an utterance of violent censure or reproach; also, a railing accusation; vituperation.

vituperation: Sustained, harshly critical language; invective. The act of vituperating; censure with abusive terms; abuse; railing.

~~~~

I’ve stopped using Google for these. LOL. When you actually use a dictionary, there is a lot of repetitiveness. Anyway, ‘invective’ is a new word for me. I’ve been reading a lot of mysteries lately, and mystery writers like to use that word. I’ve also been looking at some ‘unsung’ black artists that seem to ALWAYS get pushed out.....copied first though....but then forgotten. It’s sad. To be honest, it always makes me not want to do anything, but I don’t know how to do that either.

[muzansfangs]

hii ogm!! i'm loving the drink event and can't wait to see more stories! i wanted to request a manhattan with muzan (fem reader) where muzan is a politican, similar to in Kimetsu Academia where hes a politican!

sorry if i wasn't being to direct!

feel free to deny the request etc and have a great day! <3

The grass is greener on the other side.

Starring: Muzan Kibutsuji x f!reader;

Format: one-shot;

Warnings: nsfw, age gap between Muzan and the reader but the reader is 21, corruption kink, anal sex, modern au, unprotected sex, mention to reader stretching herself out before the encounter, pet names, slight degradation, use of handcuffs;

Plot: You knew only one thing for sure and thus was that Muzan Kibutsuji was your father’s rival. With the incoming election day, you were busy running errands for your father, when you found yourself face to face with the devil himself. From that infamous night, you always found yourself tangled into the silky bedsheets of Muzan’s bed, allowing him to strip you off of your sense of self-preservation, dignity and purity with every secret meeting.

Drink chosen: MANHATTAN (anal sex, corruption kink, handcuffs, shy reader);

MASTERLIST FOR THE EVENT | RULES FOR THE EVENT

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

"Dad, I can't make it to the conference in time. My flight got cancelled. I'll take the next one in the morning" you blatantly lied to your father, eyes staring at the golden number decorating the white door of the hotel room you were supposed to meet the reason of your little defection at.

It was not the first time you abandoned your duty as the daughter of a man running for becoming the next Prime Minister to follow your lecherous whims. You felt ashamed of yourself, when this started. You were not that kind of girl, but this man had clearly brought out the worst in you, convincing you it was perfectly fine to fight for what you wanted. To be a little selfish was essential to live without regrets.

Even if your choices would have hurt and disappointed the ones you loved.

But if they did not know about your whereabous, they would have not suffered, right? Therefore, here you were, telling lies to the man who raised you, spoiled you and treated you like a princess since the day you were born. All of this for the sake of a secret affair with his younger rival, the very man he was competing with to conquer the hearts of the electors.

“Don’t worry, honey! You have already done so much for me. — your father reassured you from the other side of the phone, causing your stomach to clench as the remorse ate you from the inside out — You will attend the next one��� he exclaimed confidently, while you fluttered your eyes close and nodded your head mournfully. If only he knew where you were, if only he saw you now, wearing that scanty dress to please Kibutsuji, he would have undoubtedly watched his perfect little girl turn into a stranger, a backstabber deserving nothing but vituperation.

“I’m sorry, dad. For real. I’ll be rooting for you anyway” you said with a tinge of sorrow in your voice, right before knocking on the door and hearing the sound of footsteps approaching it from the other side.

“Oh, sweetheart, I know you will. I really have to go now! Take care” your father said then, right when two piercing red eyes locked with yours on the threshold of the hotel room you deemed as nothing more than the Gates of Hell.

Your breath was suddenly stuck in your throat and you barely forced yourself to end the call with a “Bye, dad” before Muzan snorted and stepped aside to invite you in. He was visibly displeased at the sweet way you had whispered the epithet rightfully reserved to the man you shared the same blood with.

He hated the fact that you were his daughter and, if he had to be honest with himself, he had decided to lure you in his den to get back at him. At least, at first. Horrified at the idea of growing attached to you, something that had inevitably already happened, he tried to act distant, but you constantly made it hard to let him consider you nothing more than a cheap harlot. Why? Those eyes of yours, your shyness, were endearing to say the least.

“You can’t stay away from me, can you?” he mocked you, closing the door behind you and watching as you kept your eyes transfixed on the polished marble floor under your shoes.

“I wish I could. It’s not that simple” you whispered, shrugging your coat off of your shoulders and abent-mindedly hooking it on the clothes hanger.

The moment your voluptuary curves were exposed to his gaze, you felt it. Shivers ran down your spine, while you did not dare to turn around and face him. It was unncessary, anyway. He walked stauntered towards you like a predator, his hands searching for yours as he pressed you against the wall. His cologne intoxicated you, while his hot breath fanned the shell of your ear in a scandalous way that made your thighs squeeze together. Planting your palms to the wall before you, he intertwined yours fingrs and nuzzled your cheek with his pointy nose.

“I think it’s true what they say. The things we love are frequently the ones that destroy us” he murmured in your ear, his lips tracing your jawline hazardously.

No matter how many times you had crumbled at his feet, granted him the chance to break you down and build you up again, his touch left you always in a haze. Your cheeks heated up, a knot between your eyebrows, as you tried to hide your face from him. If only you could understand how much that tender trait of your personality drove him nuts.

“Don’t hide from me” he stated, surprisingly tenderly as he reached his hand up to wrap it on the back of your neck.

His grip was secure, when he forced you to crane your neck to meet his gaze. His lips captured yours shamelessly, hungrily, his tongue darting out of his mouth to lap at your parted lips and enter your mouth with the same confidence he held when he walked on a stage. Arrogant and unhinged, demanding and never coy he snaked his arm around your waist to make sure your back was flattened against his firm body. Timid moans fell from your lips, sounds he galdly swallowed, whilst leading you towards the king-sized bed at his back.

Lifting your lids to peer up at him, you hesitantly turned around to be face to face with him and your hand cupped his smooth cheek to run your thumb over his cheekbone. Theoughout the time you two had spent together, you had learned to read his body language. He never gave you the chance to be the master of your sea, but he did not disdain small attentions that oulked the strings of his heart. He had almost given you the impression he was touch-starved, as a dog who had been forced to just bark and growl all of his life and showing off his sharp fangs to keep potential threats at bay.

Muzan had barely opened up with you about his past and personal life. All that he asked of you was someone to keep his bed warm at night, even if you had to crawl into the darkness with him to quench his thirst for you.

You kissed him again, slowly, making sure your bodies were pressed up, that not an inch stood between you two. He reciprocated your attention, careful to remark how you were merely able to take the initiative because he had reluctantly allowed you to. You would have never forgotten it anyway. Not when his hands unceremoniously tugged the straps of your dress down your shoulders and proceeded in ripping it apart. You gasped, the sound of the garment coming apart at the seams making you knee buckle.

Muzan flicked his gaze up, tugging the ruined item down your curves to expose your body to him. The way you bit onto your lower lip nervously, still striving to avoid his plum red eyes made him want to ruin you over and over again. Every single time you two met, Muzan stripped you off of things he had yet to touch. Today was not an exception.

“What? Are you sulking over that dress? – he taunted you, quirking a dark eyebrow up before unbuckling his belt hastily – Ask your dad to buy you a new one. After all, he would be ecstatic to shower you in gifts” he bitterly commented, discarding the leather item onto the floor and shoving you down onto the bed by pushing onto your midriff.

His cold touch made your skin sizzle and your mouth went dry, when you lifted yourself up on your elbows, watching him stride to his suitcase and delving his hand into it, rummaging to draw something out.

“Or you wish it was me the one who sent gifts to you, huh? I bet you do. But, mon chéri, you know your dad would toss them into the bin. Therefore, I am forced to give you something else. Something your dad cannot see” he bantered again, his words sounding like a dagger in your heart, words representing the lyrics to the melody played by some metallic object clinking in his hands.

With your heart thrumming into your chest, you let your eyes wander to figure out the source of the chiming only to feel your breath hitch in your throat, when you found out they were shiny handcuffs. The look on your face spoke volumes, your body shuddering in anticipation as you kept on switching your focus from the object dangling from his index and his face.

Mischief twinkled in his eyes, watching in delight as you shifted your position on the bed in sheer desire and pure terror of exploring your tastes, terrorized to find out that you were probably as deranged as he was.

“You are noxious to me. You’ve poisoned me. I should not be here and let you mess me up” you uttered, sitting in a kneeling position on the snow-white sheets of the bed.

Muzan grinned and grasped your chin between his thumb and forefinger, face dangerously close to yours as he grinned at your face “Then why are you here? Why are you not in the crowd rooting for you daddy, huh? You’re royally screwing up, darling” he cooed, forcing you to lay face down on the bed.

With your cheek pressed against the rose-scented blankets, you chewed on the inside of your cheeks in a spiral of self-deprecation. He was right. You had deliberately chosen to follow him that infamous night and, much to your dismay, the following ones. It was all on you and your greedy heart, hypothetically assuming you still had one in your chest.

Muzan climbed on the bed behind you, his hands reaching for your wrists and pinning them togther behind your bed as he slapped the cuffs around them, factually preventing you from moving your arms freely.

“Have you done what I had asked of you?” he then inquired, hands already slipping underneath the waistband of your thong and dragging the thin item down your thigh.

“Yes, I did” you whispered, ashamed of yourself as he hummed in return.

The things you had done for him, things that had not even crossed your still innocent mind made you want to rip yourself apart. But how? How could you blame yourself for wanting him?

“Splendid. — Muzan chimed, reaching for something behind him on nightstand — Just relax. Look, I’ll let you see your beloved daddy while I fuck you up, alright?” he sarcastically taunted you, as you began to put the dots together. The remoter, he had grabbed the remoter. He remembered the exact hour your dad was supposed to speak to the Country.

Sweat beaded your forehead as you squirmed underneath him, a hoarse chuckle rambling from somewhere deep into his chest as the screen of the tv projected the smiling, proud face of your father. His eyes seemed to bore right into yours as Muzan fumbled behind you with his pants and grasped your hips into his calloused hands.

“Ah, look at him. My rival has a good taste in neckties. Where does he buy them? Marinella? Those are surely italian-coded” the raven-haired man behind you noted, deliviring another unfathomable kick in your guts.

“You are a bastard” you whispered, eyes widening as he pressed the girthy tip of his cock against your puckered hole. The stretch left you breathless, eyes watering in the process. Frankly, seeing the face of your father partially blurry was far way better than having a clear vision.

While Muzan grunted, makinf sure you could feel every inch of his cock dilating you, the words your dad said made you choke out an uncontrollable sob.

“My sweet daughter could not be by my side today. Her presence is a blessing. Hopefully, she’s now somewhere out there to bless someone else’s day. I love you, sweetheart!” your father said and there was a burst of applause to echo throughout the room.

Wincing softly in pain, hips rotating to accomodate to the intrusion in your most private area, you had to endure the way Muzan sneered and began to rhythmically thrust into you, a crazed expression on his face as he pounded into you without much care of your condition “Oh, you have no idea. Her ass is a fucking blessing, sir” he mocked your father, earning a stifle moan from you.

You wished you could space out, but it was impossible. The stimulation you were receiving was driving you mad. The pain gradually subsided, causing a series of unbridled moans to erupt from your throat. Drool was running down the angle of your mouth, back arching convulsively, as you heard every words your father said and felt every comment Muzan made.

“Fuck… Nah, I’m going to have to send my regards to your father, kitten. — he rasped out, giving you one last thrust, before pulling out with a groan and releasing onto the small of your back — After all, I’m going to steal his lucky charm from him, once I beat him” he whispered after a few seconds.

Trembling, astonished, you closed your eyes and laid there with a drained expression on your face. Muzan Kibutsuji was going to be the death of you.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! The third request for my event is done! Honestly, I hope you’ve enjoyed this one as much as I did. Why? Guys, come on, it reflects my main story “Guilty pleasure”. I felt like I had deprived you of ‘Politician Muzan’ for way too long not to write this one as soon as possible. Now, likes, comments and re-posts are greatly appreciated!

Until next,

X O X O

TAGS: @doumadono @axesfordays @tomorika-pura @cursetopia @the-dark-creature @yazzzmints

[alchemyfire]

That book "The Revolutionary Career of Maximilien Robespierre" by David P. Jordan continues to amaze me. Here are more extracts...

As Robespierre lay on a table in the antechamber of the Commitee of Public Safety, drifting in and out of consciousness, his ball-shattered jaw bound up with a bandage, his triumphant enemies, in another room of the Tuileries palace, were creating the monster who would soon pass into historical legend. This Robespierre created by using materials scavenged from old calumny, damaging anecdote, and sometimes sheer malicious invention, was one of the founding acts of a new revolutionary government...

---

This is how the first chapter started, followed by examples of this awful propaganda and slander, which I refuse to repeat here. *sigh*

Anyway, some interesting facts are brought up here.

In making Robespierre the monstrous symbol of the Terror, of all fanaticism and excess, they not only created a vile legend, which was politically useful at the moment, they also recognized, in their frantic efforts to exorcise Robespierre's disturbing shade, his significance. In a sense Thermidorian vituperation kept Robespierre alive. The very intensity of their malice tended to mythologize the man they sought to obliterate. The next generation, with different purposes and sensibilities, would take up the memory of Robespierre, still warm from the passion of Thermidorian hatred, and create a heroic figure, a savior of France and a champion of humankind. Monster and hero have remained the poles of Robespierre's changing reputation...

...The legend of a monstrous Robespierre not only grew unchecked, for when it was being made none dared challenge the new masters of the Revolution, but was reiterated and embellished by government apologists and men who found the legend useful for propaganda, a reminder of the revolutionary excesses from which they insisted they had saved France. Napoleon, whose coup d'état in 1799 ended the reign of the Thermidorians, as First Consul or later as Emperor, had no desire to remind the people of his brief but real robespierriste past. He had no intention of rehabilitating Robespierre's reputation, let alone connecting himself with the Terror....

Charlotte's Mémoires were then...the belated and necessary antidote for Thermidorian poison. (I love the author's language.)

Although she saw only the lovable brother, while... He never aspired to be loved for his personality (as Charlotte loved him). He demanded, and received, respect, devotion, even love - for he had several close friends who resembled and extended family - for what he insisted he was, a revolutionary.

[footprintsinthesxnd]

Out of the Woods

So finally here is the fic to accompany the Liebgott Taylor Swift moodboard (as seen below) Pairings: Joseph Liebgott x reader. Warnings: swearing, gore (reader is a nurse), war themes

Normandy 1944

Joseph Liebgott had never been the easiest man to get along with, he was stubborn and opinionated and was built like a ticking time bomb, the slightest thing could set him off and that was the mistake Y/n made when she first bumped into him.

“Hey, watch where ya going ya shit head!” Y/n stumbled forward, her threadbare boots scuffing in the mud as she dropped the wooden crate of medical supplies, cursing as the valuable, clean bandages unravelled into the sludgy puddle. The path outside the aid station was a thick mire and often reminded Y/n of the way her father had reminisced about the trenches of the Great War.

“ I should watch where I’m going?” Y/n spat, narrowing her eyes at the paratrooper, “You’re the one who just cost first battalion half of their medical supplies.” Throwing the salvageable bandages back into the box in anguish, the crumpled lumps of clay-coloured cloth were no good now. Y/n wasn’t sure how she was going to break the news to Eugene; the medic wasn’t known for his anger but knowing their situation this would surely push him over the edge.

The paratrooper spun around to face her, his skin pale and dark eyes encircled by purple, “oh so first battalion got their own personal nurse now? No wonder those fuckers are so cheerful,” he sneered, oblivious of the accident he had inflicted and not bother to offer any kind of assistance as Y/n fumbled anxiously for the supplies.

“No, I’m distributing supplies to all the medics in each battalion of Dog, Easy and Fox company actually, but maybe when I find out which battalion you’re from I’ll conveniently skip them,” she snapped back, thrusting the waterlogged box aggressively under her arm, no longer concerned by the trail of sludge leaking down her white apron.

“Good day, Corporal.”

Holland 1944

The second time they met was no better. Joe had been injured on a patrol and his neck was bleeding profusely through the rudimentary bandage wrapped poorly in a limp scarf.

“Liebgott just let me look at it God dammit,” Y/n reached over, her nimble fingers trying desperately to remove the bandage from his neck but he flinched away. Her fingers barely brushed against the dressing as he shot up from his seat in a receptive, crumbling leather chair situated in the corner of the temporary aid station, having once been someone’s home that now lay abandoned and derelict.

“No, get off me. I don’t need your help. Where’s Doc Roe?” Liebgott snapped, and Y/n sighed elaborately; she was in no mood for this kind of attitude. There were eleven other men in the aid station who would all greatly appreciate being attended too.

“Doc Roe is dealing with other casualties. You got me or nothing.”

Liebgott snorted, “Guess I’ll just bleed to death then.”

Y/n protested but Liebgott had already shouldered his M1 and was making his way towards the entrance.

“Why won’t you just let me look at it?” Y/n hollered, a little louder than she had intended and alerted the other paratroopers.

Joe spun on his heels, his mouth-eaten jump boots, scraping the rough, wooden floorboards.

“I don’t want some woman half-assing a dressing because she wants to be part of the war effort. This is no place for a woman, it is a man's war,” he vituperated her, taking no notice of the stares he was receiving from his friends. “I don’t want your help,” his word was final and his boots were heavy as he departed leaving a deafening silence in his wake.

“I don’t know what his problem is with me, Gene,” Y/n sighed, as she finished unpacking the fresh medical supplies from one of the many crates from their much-needed supply drop. Her muscles griped, but soon relaxed as she finally took a seat on one of the crates; Y/n had been on her feet all day. “I don’t know why he hates me.”

Eugene's dark eyes followed her movements, sending a sympathetic smile her way as he dropped down beside her on the crates, “Liebgott is a hard man to read, ma Chérie.”

Y/n simpered, the right corner of her lips turning upwards at the nickname. Eugene, with his dark hair and kind eyes, had always been a striking character and the two were of one mind. His friendly but subdued nature seemed to draw people to him, making him a favourite within the company, including with Y/n who despite what other men in the Company thought was always a welcome hand by Eugene’s side,

“I just don’t understand why he hates me.”

“I don’t hate you,” the gruff voice caused the pair to turn; Y/n felt as though she may have whiplash from the speed at which she spun around, concerned by how much he could have heard from their conversation and worried that he would now think she was pathetic, lamenting about trivial problems. Joe, standing in the doorway leaning against his M1, seemed to have not heard the conversation or if he had he never made a comment. Instead, his dark eyes made their way towards Eugene, bloody bandages still pressed against the wound on his neck.

“Are you free to look at my neck now, Doc?” He asked, ignorant of Y/n presence - why should this be any different to any of their previous interactions? He stared blankly at Eugene.

“Sure, Liebgott,” Eugene stood up and moved over to his fellow paratrooper. “Take ya self a seat, I’ll grab ma things.”

Eugene disappeared, his heavy footfalls seemed to echo his departure and was the only sign Y/n needed.

“I’m going to head out, Gene. I’m shattered,” her hands fumbling into her musette bag, hastily stuffing the extra box of syrettes Eugene had given her into the inner pocket. Joe’s eyes seemed to dance after her, an unwanted shadow documenting her every movement. They followed her out of the door and even as her boots squelched unpleasantly down the track, her legs carrying her rapidly away from the watchful eyes. She couldn’t find it in her to turn around, to face him, too afraid of the glare he always sent her way.

Bastogne 1944

The Luftwaffe started dropping bombs around midnight. Y/n with blood encrusted under her short nails, had just finished her rounds, checking on all the wounded soldiers she had patched up during the day. The distinct whistling from above was her first clue that they weren’t going to have a quiet night. Like a deathly siren announcing the beginning of the end. Reneé appeared beside her, anxiety etched on her delicate features.

“We are in for a long night, Y/n. Grab what supplies you can.”

Y/n nodded, hurrying towards the store room when the first bomb whistled down on the church, shaking it from the rafters, dust falling in great clouds from the ceiling.

“Y/n, come quickly. We have to evacuate everyone.”

Along with the other nurses, Y/n helped Reneé evacuate the walking wounded first, sending injured soldiers into the snowy streets of Bastogne. Next came the more severely injured, hauled out on stretchers between two nurses.

“Y/n, stay out here with the wounded, check their wounds. We have to make sure no one has torn any stitches trying to escape. I’m going to try and get some more out,” Reneé called, hurrying back into the crumbling church with several other nurses hot on her heels.

Great flames billowed from the surrounding buildings, the night was ablaze with fire and smoke, and the earth shook with each eruption. Soldiers had started firing the Ack Ack guns at the aircraft above. The noise was deafening, a constant pounding over the top of the whistling bombs and explosions. Y/n could feel her heart pounding, a constant thumping in her ear reminding her that she was miraculously still alive.

The church was struck again and Y/n had to fight the urge to follow her friends into danger, but the wounded soldiers needed her. Lights flashed up behind her, illuminating the terrified nurse and her patients. She turned to see a jeep approaching, a wounded man strapped to the front wailing in agony, thrashing against his restraints. The jeep swerved to a halt and a figure came running towards her.

“EUGENE!” She cried out running to embrace her friend.

“Ma Chérie, are you alright?” Eugene hugged her tightly to his chest. Y/n couldn’t help the tears that began to fall, the growing emotions of the evening finally spilling from within her.

“Gene, Reneé went back inside,” Y/n sobbed, just as the third shell hit the church. They both watched in horror as the front of the church caved in, stone crumbling down into the street and blocking the entrance.

“NOOOO!” Y/n cried, thrashing against Eugene’s arms but he wouldn’t let go.

“No Y/n, please. There is nothing we can do. I can’t lose you too,” he admitted, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead as they shared in their grief.

Joe sat shivering in his foxhole, the cold seeping into his bones in a way that the winter in San Francisco never could have.

“Hey Joe,” George called out, plonking himself down beside him. “How ya doing?” George shoved his scuffed leather boot against Joe’s clothed leg, prodding him like an impatient child.

Joe turned to him, “How the fuck do you think I’m doing, George? I’m freezing my fucking ass off in the middle of the woods for a CO who can’t even make a decision.”

“Alright, jeez. Sorry for asking,” George raised his hands in surrender. “We just got news from Bastogne.” George began, trying to gauge Joe’s reaction. “It was hit by the Luftwaffe. The aid station… it’s gone.”

“Oh fucking brilliant. Now if we get hit we ain’t got no aid station either.”

George swallowed quickly, “Y/n was in Bastogne.”

Any words Joe had thought of died in the back of his throat. His face went as white as the snow on the ground and he could feel the sweat growing on his palms, his stomach plummeting into his jump boots.

“Is she…?”

“I don’t know, Joe. Doc’s not back yet but I wanted to prepare you in case.”

“In case of what?” Joe snapped, standing from his foxhole and slinging his M1 over his shoulder in anguish. “And why should I care anyway? It’s not like I like her or anything.”

“Fucking hell,” George whispered under his breath. “Joe, when are you gonna grow some balls and admit you’re in love with her. Everyone can see it, including Webster and he’s oblivious to most things.”

It was true George had to spell it out to him back in Holland before he got hit.

“Webster sent a letter to Hoobler the other week asking if you’d finally told Y/n.”

Joe sighed, running his hand over his face, deep in thought.

“Is it really that obvious?”

“Hell yes. I bet even the Krauts on the other side of the clearing can see it.”

Joe nodded slowly, “okay. As soon as I find her I’m gonna tell her.”

George nodded, watching as his friend hurried away to check if Eugene had returned.

“Let’s just hope he’s not too late.”

Y/n groaned as she straightened her back, stretching after what seemed like hours of bending over to apply dressings, carrying wounded men to transport vehicles, and digging through the rubble to collect supplies. Her friend's bodies had been retrieved from the church and lay in a neat row under rough, army-issued blankets. Y/n couldn’t bring herself to look at them, couldn’t bring herself to accept their fate.

She had seen members of Easy Company coming and going. A few had been sent by Captain Winters to help, bringing with them more wounded paratroopers from the front line. Y/n was too preoccupied to notice the familiar figure approaching her, she didn’t notice until he grabbed her arm firmly and spun her around to face him.

“Liebgott!” She gasped, raising her hand to smack him. “What the hell is your problem? You scared me half to death.”

Joe looked a mixture of shocked and confused until his cheeks grew a bright red.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He seemed genuinely sorry but Y/n was too consumed by her emotions to think rationally.

“Well you did a darn good job of that didn’t you,” she snapped. “You know if you’re just here to be mean or make some rude comment then you can forget it. I’m not in the mood today. I just lost my friends.” Y/n knew she should not have snapped, it wasn’t Joe’s fault but all the emotions were bubbling up inside her and if she felt anymore pain her heart would burst.

“That’s not why I’m here,” Joe began, he reached forward to take Y/n hand in his own. It was warm, comforting and almost felt familiar, as if he had been holding her hand all their lives. She let him but watched in confusion by this unusual act.

“I’m so sorry about your friends, Y/n. I know this must be difficult for you. I’m here because… well when George told me the aid station had been hit I couldn’t think of anything else than making sure you were okay. Y/n I realised something and…”

“Joe, let me stop you right there. Why would you care if I was okay or not? Joe you hate me… and… and I’ve never understood why?” Y/n sobbed, bringing her hand to cover her mouth, muffling her whimpers into her bloody sleeve. “Why do you hate me, Joe? What did I do wrong?”

Joe’s heart shattered at the sight of the broken woman in front of him. Her shoulders shook violently and tears flowed freely down her dirty cheeks, smudge with ash and mud. She looked frail, weak even and Joe hated that he’d caused it.

“Y/n, I never hated you. Why would you think that?” Joe moved towards her, collecting her hands in his own larger ones once more and rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “Talk to me, Y/n. Please.”

“Well you always shout at me and… and you wouldn’t l-let me treat your wound and y-you avoid me all the time,” she stammered, looking up at him through tear-filled lashes.

“Oh Sweetheart,” Joe pulled her against his chest, his breath felt warm and tingly against her neck. Y/n had never noticed that he was only slightly taller than her and her head fitted perfectly in the crook of his neck. Her hands wrapped into tight fists against his jacket and she could feel his heart hammering against her hands. “I don’t want you to ever feel like that again.”

“Joe…”

“Shh Mein Liebling, it’s all going to be alright now.”

Austria 1945

Y/n had never dreamed that she would get to visit Austria. It seemed as if it was a world away from the likes of Bastogne and the horrors of war. Its tranquil, turquoise lakes and steep mountains with their snow-covered peaks seemed the pinnacle of the landscape. Work had become scarce too, other than the occasional scrape or sprain it had mainly become stock control and arranging supplies to be sent to the Pacific where the fighting had yet to cease. Y/n knew that both herself or Joe could be sent to the Pacific at any time it was inevitable, and neither of them was going to get through the war unscathed.

For now, they were at peace and in the comforts of her room, under clean sheets with her legs tangled in Joe’s and her head resting on his chest, Y/n couldn’t help but feel at peace. The steady thrumming of his heart and the gentle rise and fall of his chest coaxed her too and from sleep in waves. She didn’t want to move, afraid that she would disturb her sleeping paratrooper but at the same time her legs had gone numb hours ago and she could feel the pins and needles begin to prickle their way up her legs.

“Joe?” She whispered, reasoning her hand cautiously to brush a stray brunette lock out of his eyes. Joe’s nose wrinkled and he screwed his eyes shut tighter with a sigh. Y/n smiled as she watched him stir from his slumber. It was one of life’s greatest pleasures to see Joe so relaxed, so at peace even if for just a while.

Joe moaned, his long lashes fluttered against his cheeks before they opened revealing his chestnut orbs.

“Good morning Mein Liebling,” his voice was gruff and sleepy but the smile on his face said that he was more than conscious enough to show his love.

Y/n smiled back at him, “Good morning handsome. How did you sleep?”

“It’s the best night's sleep I’ve had in a while, although I don’t recall much bc sleeping happening.” Joe grinned and Y/n's cheeks grew bright red at the thought of last night’s activity. Glancing around the room there was evidence everywhere. Clothes strewn across the floor, the mirror hung lopsided on the wall, the desk was cleared of any objects and the paper that had once occupied it lay across the carpet.

“I have to admit it’s the most enjoyable night I’ve had in a long time,” Joe admitted, tangling a lock of her hair around his finger.

“Me too,” Y/n admitted and Joe smiled once again.

“What does it mean? Mein Liebling?” Y/n asked, running her fingernails slowly over his exposed chest.

Joe laughed, “my darling. It’s been your nickname for a long time.” He admitted his cheeks rosy and his smile nervous.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’ve been calling you that for far longer than you’ve realised. I just didn’t want anyone to realise I was talking about you. Figured the other guys would give me hell about it.” Releasing the lock he’d wrapped around his finger, he sat propped up by his elbows so he could face her.

“Y/n, I need to ask you something and it’d be real nice if your answer was yes.”

Y/n sat up now too, her expression a mixture of anxiety and confusion but the soft smile on her lips encouraged him to continue.

“Y/n will you come home with me, back to Chicago I mean? I can get my old job back at the cab company and we can buy a big house…” he paused a grin spreading across his lips. “A big house with lots of rooms, for all the little Liebgotts we’re gonna be making.”

Y/n laughed, smacking Joe’s arm.

“You’re lucky you’re good looking Liebgott.”

“Am I taking that as a yes?”

“Yes, you can.”

Joe grinned at her, his cheeky little smile followed by a little laugh causing Y/n’s heart to swell beyond what she thought was possible. Wrapped in Joe’s arms in their little room in Austria Y/n realised that maybe they were finally out of the woods.

Tags: @georgieluz @iceman-kazansky @yeahcurrahhe-e @lieutenant-speirs @sharpshootershifty @liberteuniteegalite @msmercury84 @desert-fern @mayhem24-7forever @blvestxr @dustyjumpwjngs @theflyingfin @jump-wings @kafka-ohdear @kmc1989 @mads-weasley @docroesmorphine @liptonsbabe @merriell-allesandro-shelton @sweetxvanixlla @hesbuckcompton-baby @ronsparky @mutantmanifesto @malarkgirlypop

[literaryvein-reblogs]

words for your dystopian novel

Bad situation

abend, accident, adversity, anarchy, apocalypse, backwash, bad scene, bane, bedlam, bind, blooper, bottleneck, bug, bummer, can of worms, cataclysm, catch, chaos, clog, cobweb, collision, commotion, conflict, contempt, crisis, crunch, damage, deadlock, debacle, decline, deficiency, detriment, difficulty, disadvantage(s), disaster, discomfiture, disorganization, disservice, disturbance, downfall, drag, drawback, duress, emergency, error, exigency/exigence, failing, famine, fiasco, fix, flash point, flip-flop, flotsam, friction, gadfly, hang-up, harm, havoc, hell, histrionics, holdup, hurdle, impasse, impropriety, inconvenience, infirmity, jalopy, jump, lapse, limitation, lose, madhouse, malfunction, maze, mire, misery, misfortune/mishap, mix-up, neglect, nightmare, obstacle, onus, ordeal, pall, pass, pell-mell, pickle, pitfall, plague, poison, press, problem, quagmire, question, restraint, reverse, ruin, scandal, scrape, shambles, showdown, smash, snare, spot, storm, strife, syndrome, tiff, to-do, trap, trouble, turmoil, undoing, uprising, upset, weight, wreck

Danger

act of God, bad trip, calamity, cataclysm, crapshoot, curse, dilemma, emergency, hardship, ill, mayhem, peril, risk, seriousness, threat, trouble, violence

Fate

accident, break, bummer, chaff, contingency, damnation, destiny, doom, downfall, duty, flip-flop, fortune, future, good, judgment, limbo, lot, misfortune/mishap, outlook, penalty, plague, predestination, setback, suspense, undoing, windfall

Morality

abandon, affirmative action, blasphemy, conscience, craft, decadence, delinquency, dirt, enormity, equality, ethics/ethic, excess, faithfulness, falsity, favoritism, good, good will/goodwill, guile, guise, honesty, ideals, imposture, infamy, infraction, iniquity, innocence, liability, loyalty, misbehavior, misconduct, misdeed/ misdemeanor, morals, obscenity, outrage, principle/principles, profanity, responsibility, sacrilege, scandal, score, sin, treachery, trespass, trickery, turpitude, validity, veracity, virtue, wrong

Assert

accredit, adduce, advocate, affirmation, allege, announcement, attest, bemoan, bluster, brag, bring out, come clean, crow, declaim, declare, deny, drum into, emphasize, exclaim, exult, gloat, gloss, gush, impute, insist, justify, level, maintain, mockery, overrate, play down, plead, point out, proclaim, promote, pronounce, punctuate, push, rave, retract, rumor, speak out/speak up, state, stress, support, swear, testify, testimony, underscore, vindicate, vouch, whitewash, witness

Authorize

accede, accredit, acknowledgment, affirm, appoint, approve, assign, back, bar, bless, certify, chicken out, concession, constitute, countenance, crown, dedicate, delegation, disown, enable, endorse, enjoin, entrust, exempt, forgive, induct, invest, lay, let off, make, negate, nominate, notarize, okay, order, overrule, permission, place, prohibit, recall, release, repeal, revoke, spare, subscribe, validate, veto, warrant, witness

Criticize

abuse, admonition, aspersion, assault, bad-mouth, baste, beef, berate, browbeat, castigate, chasten, chew out, come down on, complaint, condemnation, correct, criticism, critique, cut, damn, debase, denigrate, denunciation, deprecate, deride, detract, diatribe, disparage, dress down, flak, fulminate, gainsay, gird, gripe, grouch, hiss, humiliate, impugn, invective, jaw, knock, lament, lay into, malign, mortify, mug, nag, offense, pick at/pick on, protest, rail, rap, reflection, reprimand, reprove, revile, row, sarcasm, scorn, sit-in, sneer, storm, swear, tell off, upbraid, vituperate

Demand

adjure, beckon, behest, bidding, call, charge, command, crave, cross-examine, debrief, demand, direct, enjoin, exact, extortion, grease, importune, inflict, instruct, necessitate, order, petition, query, request, requisition, solicit, squeeze, supplicate, take on

Government action

abdicate, abolition, administer, amnesty, cease-fire, command, depose, dethrone, dominate, enforce, exile, filibuster, override/overrule, reign, run in, second, tax, veto

Government organization

administration, cabinet, capitol, confederacy, cop, court, democracy, dictatorship, empire, government, jury, police/police officer, regime, sovereignty, tyranny

Political action

amnesty, arbitration, campaign, crusade, demonstration, drive, elect, endorse, mutiny, nomination, picket, poll, reaction, revolt, riot, sedition, vote

Restrict

bar, bind, bound, brake, circumscribe, cocoon, constrain, constrict, control, curb, dam, defer, deferment/deferral, desensitize, embargo, enjoin, expatriate, expulsion, fetters, forbear, gag, grind, hamper, handicap, hem/hem in, hobble, hold back/hold off, impair, imposition, inhibit, keep one’s cool, localize, moderate, obligate, ostracism, prohibit, rein, restrain, retard, shackle, slowdown, squelch, strangle, subdue, suspend, tie/tie up

Symbol

arms, autograph, beep, capital, charm, code, cue, device, emblem, ensign, flag, flourish, graffiti, handwriting, herald, imprint, indication, John Hancock, landmark, letter, logo, notation, numeral, script, sign, spot, stripe, tag, tick, trademark, type, writing

NOTE

Excerpted from Roget's 21st Century Thesaurus, Updated and Expanded 3rd Edition, in Dictionary Form, edited by The Princeton Language Institute.

The above are concepts classified according to subject and usage. It not only helps writers and thinkers to organize their ideas but leads them from those very ideas to the words that can best express them.

It was, in part, created to turn an idea into a specific word. By linking together the main entries that share similar concepts, the index makes possible creative semantic connections between words in our language, stimulating thought and broadening vocabulary.

Source ⚜ Writing Basics & Refreshers ⚜ On Vocabulary Dystopia ⚜ Dystopian World ⚜ Pain & Violence ⚜ Hate

[amoviescreen]

“teenage girls are dangerous, jonathan. they're full of emotional violence and vituperation. was it her sycophancy that got you hard? or was it the smell of teen spirit?”

— miller's girl, 2024

[bakemeats]

art fight pics so far this year! belonging to @awfulrabbit @vituperating @teratophallia and kittydoesathing, respectively

[thegreenleavesofspring]

When I say it is more effective to pray for someone than bludgeon them over the head with you are wrong what I mean is this:

Almost my entire life - perhaps not during my very early childhood, I don't remember; there was a catastrophe when I was twelve that changed everything - my mother has been in rebellion against God, if not full-on apostasy.

I grew up listening to her rail and scream at God, accuse Him. Listened to her say that she knew better than He did. Accuse Him of creating evil and being a cruel God. Just - all sorts of things. I remember perhaps twice that she ever apologized for anything when I was growing up, and one of those was with a caveat. She simply did not believe she was wrong about anything, ever.

Both of my sisters have told her to her face "You are not a Christian" and cut her off entirely. When I say that I am the only person left in the world who will speak with my mother outside of a business setting, I am not exaggerating in the slightest. (Save, perhaps, with the exception of my eldest son, who likes her visits quite a bit.)

I did not bite my tongue at all as a teenager. Since I have been an adult, most of my relationship with my mother has been biting my tongue. She is one of those people whom one wrong word will set off a chain reaction that there's no coming back from. So I stayed beside her and I bit my tongue and I prayed.

I prayed. I commended her into God's hands and acknowledged her glaringly obvious faults to Him and I prayed, I prayed for her. I pray for her now. Constantly, unceasingly, every minute I am awake, supplication for her, worded or wordless.

Y'all.

Another catastrophe has arisen. Any day now, she will be homeless, carless, old and feeble and struggling just to survive. And yet.

Of late, I stopped biting my tongue as much. I started urging her to pray. I know you don't feel like you can, I know you feel dirty, I know you're still in rebellion and feel abandoned. You need to pray. You need to pray. Just start. However. Just start praying. You need to pray.

She started praying. She spent days praying. She started reading her Bible and her devotionals. She told me she spent hours on the floor praying and sobbing until she felt empty.

She's begun filling up again. She's begun admitting culpabilities that I never thought to hear from her: culpabilities that I had long recognized and thought and disapproved of, but knew it would be worthless to say so. She admits them freely and openly. She has gone from permanent vituperation to peace. She has given up sins she has held close since before I was born.

She told me, today, about the devotional: the passage on the Good Shepherd leaving the 99 and going after the 1. And how, when He returned, He bid all His friends come and rejoice with Him.

Oh, I have been rejoicing. I have been rejoicing over her for these past couple weeks.

She is still terrified, and depressed. What is looming is terrible indeed. Neither of us is at all certain that she will survive until this time next year, but if she does not, I will have no fear: I will see her again, one day. I am certain of it.

So when I say it is better to pray for those who are astray than to belabor them with accusative "You are not a Christian", I mean it.

(And personally I think that someone with an unclear understanding of Jesus but who still acknowledges Him as the Way the Truth and the Life, is probably 'closer' to being a 'real Christian' than someone in full rebellion. But maybe that's just me.)

[delicatuscii-wasbella102]

"Self-pity and hatred were not enough. It was also necessary to drive out fear … So the speakers turned from vituperation to self-praise. From small beginnings, the Party had grown invincible. Each listener felt a part of its omnipotence within himself. He was transported into a new psychosis. The induced melancholia passed into paranoia, and the paranoia into megalomania." Trump has certainly been getting tips from Kim Jung Un and I notice that one of his cronies has said it, So that gives Trump the 'out' to blame someone else when he gets asked.