beggars-opera · 2 months ago
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There are very few f-bombs in the 18th century slang dictionary, but when they do show up they are CLASS
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diana-andraste · 2 months ago
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Still Life (In An Airshaft), Joel-Peter Witkin, 1967
"He cut off his nose to be revenged of his face."
A Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, by Francis Grose, 1788
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clove-pinks · 8 months ago
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Even if the word funky apparently dates to the 17th century, I did not expect to read about a funky canoe in 1813:
We both sat on the sound end of the wooden Canoe, cocked her broken bow over the water and launched our bark for fame and glory. It was, in vulgar parlance, a funky affair but we got over safe. (x)
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dollypopup · 3 months ago
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come over here and profound for me
-is officially completed!
Did you wish the show explored Pen and Colin's emotions in more depth? That Penelope and Eloise's friendship fallout was more tense- and the reconciliation more meaningful? That Polin's romance was a focal point that burned slowly as they fell deeper and deeper for each other? That Lady Whistledown had the narrative weight it was building toward? Were you, too, displeased with 'and then everybody clapped' endings and wanted a Polin honeymoon? Are you a fan of character growth? Accountability? Tender smut? Dorks in love? Reconciliation? Colin backstory and POV? Poetry? Love and Romance? Women treated as full people? Family feels? Angst? Polin as a team? Pen and Colin and Eloise and Marina all winning?
Come Over Here and Profound for Me! The fic one person left 75 anonymous hate comments on, and another said "I feel like I understand them in a new way, and I really wish your insight into the soul of each of them was reflected in the show. It made the reconciliations that much sweeter and the love deeper."
Snippet:
“Penelope! Pen! ” he called out, running and running, and just as she turned, he threw his arms about her. There, in full view of the ton, in bleary sunshine and in the eyes of those who were still mulling about, Lady Whistledown articles in their hands, he curled into her, breathed once more for the first time in what felt ages. “Pen.”
It took her a moment, but then she fully leaned upon him, exhaling as though she had not had the opportunity even a moment in their separation, and she melted into him. Slowly, as though to assure he was real, her hands came up to his back, gently grasping hold of him, disheveled as he was. “Colin,” she whispered, and he nuzzled his nose against her temple. “Oh, Co-”
“-lin Christopher Bridgerton!”
He nearly hissed when he felt Anthony grasping him by the collar with a yelp, scruffing him as though a stray cat and pulled him away. “In the middle of the street!? Miss Featherington, I apologize for my brother’s behavior.”
“Hey!” he protested, twisting about to see that familiar vein throbbing in his brother’s forehead.
“You’ve lost your wits! In broad daylight! Have you gone mad!?”
“Of course I have!” he yelled, just as Penelope herself proclaimed “Do not speak to him that way!” and the surprise of it left Anthony speechless. Colin’s entire body felt to bursting, all the relief, all the ache he had for her, all the tenderness intensified. “Did I not just tell you I love her? And here she is! For an entire day, I thought there was no future and now my future is before me- and you question if I have gone mad? After I watched the woman I adore be dragged off to a place I could never hope to reach her and now she has returned?”
Through the pulse pounding through his ears, drumming his body, he felt another hand upon him, a voice most dulcet sharpened. “I demand you release my intended this moment, Lord Bridgerton, or you shall see what true madness is from a woman displeased,” Penelope insisted, protective and deadly as she pulling him toward her, Anthony’s grip fully slackened, and the two of them leaning upon one another once more. 
read me
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tricornonthecob · 1 year ago
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perusing the Good Book, the Scriptures, the Truth (Francis Grose's Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue) and I finally found an old-timey word for teenager:
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Honestly, petition to use this instead of teenager now.
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dimity-lawn · 26 days ago
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A collection of memes I made after visiting Michilimackinac and Fort Mackinac in May, 2023.
Yes, the photo in the last meme is real. I don’t know who carved that into the wall in one of the lookout posts at Fort Mackinac, but I took the photo.
@ivory--raven
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officialgleamstar · 1 year ago
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Every single day I wake up and dress up in slutty little outfits to make women crave me
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catenaaurea · 1 year ago
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So true what you said about word salads and the exponential growth of magisterial documents. I sure wish there was some ancient language we could use to express theological ideas in terms that are no longer liable to reinterpretation, so that everyone who reads them has the same baseline understanding of what they mean.
Yea..aha...would be so cool if that existed...
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thebotanicalarcade · 2 years ago
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n166_w1150 by Biodiversity Heritage Library Via Flickr: Alpen-Flora für Touristen und Pflanzenfreunde Stuttgart :Verlag für Naturkunde Sprösser & Nägele,1904. biodiversitylibrary.org/page/10384144
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beautysamour · 1 year ago
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miguel accidentally overstimulating himself not realizing that his breeding kink kicked in 🤲🧎‍♀️
overstimulation with miguel o’hara ❤︎
— a/n: oh my
warnings ゚𐦍༘⋆: some vulgar language, mentions of having kids during sex
“Mi—Miguel,” you gasp out, wrapping your arms around his neck as he fucks you into the mattress, “‘s—‘s too much? Ah—are you oh—okay?”
You shudder in unison as he pumps another load of his cum into your drenched pussy.
“I’m fi—fine,” he stutters as his dick twitches. It hurts—he’s sensitive—but it’s not enough. He hasn’t given you enough.
A broken mewl escapes you as your head hits the headboard, Miguel tightens his grip around your waist to keep you from slipping off his cock as his hips stutter through his thrusts.
His visions blurs as you clench around his dick—he was surprised he was still able to move.
He chokes when your pussy flutters—the way you clamp down on his dick makes his body go slack and his eyes roll back.
You’re both covered in sweat, and cum, and saliva. You feel hot, the silk bedsheets Miguel bought does nothing to cool you down, and your head is spinning. Your heart pounds in your chest as your body tenses—you were about to cum again, and your pussy wanted to cry.
“Miguel,” you whimper, “‘m close, Miguel, ‘m close,” you whine. His dick deliciously rubs against your walls as he sticks his thumb into your mouth—your head hits the headboard.
“I know mami—me too.” Your head hits the headboard again, “Gotta fill you up again, don’t you want that? Gonna make you feel good, I promise mami, I promise.”
“Mig—“ he pushes his thumb down on your tongue.
“‘m gonna make you feel so good, mami,” he starts to babble, “Gonna feel so good.”
Somehow every movement he made was even more intense, you could feel every vein, every twitch, every—everything. He became more precise, every thrust ended with him hitting your g—spot, you were never sure if that was going to be the moment you came.
“Miguel—,” you babble, sucking his thumb. “‘m gonna cum, right there Miguel, I’m gonna—“
His thrusts became erratic, the feeling of your warm pussy engrains itself in his memory.
He’d definitely be going back to this memory.
“Wait for me mami, I’m almost there too,” he grabs one of your hands, bringing it close to his mouth, and he presses his lips against your wrist. “Gonna make you a mother, yeah?”
You bite his thumb.
He presses a hand against your stomach as the bed creaks, “Make me a father?”
His hips stutter as you moan around his thumb.
You avoid eye contact as he leans over you, the pure devotion in his eyes makes you feel tingles in your stomach—and make you feel even more of that in your pussy.
“Look at me when you come mami, pl—please. Need you too.”
You didn’t expect it to happen that quickly when you looked at him.
Miguel looks down at you with lust blown eyes, his hair drops down from his face, and his mouth hangs open—the hand holding your wrist shaking. He slowly thrusts into you as he came inside you—your own cum mixed with his leaking around his dick.
His chest goes up and down as he heavily breathes—fuck was he beautiful as always.
He dips his head pressing a quick sloppy kiss onto your lips, “You’re leaking.”
You laugh, “It’s your fault.”
You expect him to laugh, to take it as a joke and then pick you up to go take a relaxing bath and cuddle for the rest of night—but he doesn’t.
“Oh,” he purrs, “Well, I should fix my mistake, shouldn’t I?”
He drops your wrist and focuses on your left boob, he pinches your nipple—you moan softly.
You wince in unison when he starts to move his hips again, his free hand trailing down to your waist from your stomach, “Ha—have to make sure none of my cum goes to waste, right mami? Can’t risk you not getting pregnant.”
Tears weld in his eyes, your pussy hurts as you pulse around him. He lets out a weak breath, “You want me to cum in you again, right?”
Your head hits the headboard once more as he thrusts get stronger.
It hurts, you’re too sensitive, and you’re positive he is too—yet he’s right. You do want that, you want him.
With a broken, hoarse voice, you say “Yes.”
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beggars-opera · 2 years ago
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You guys drank the seawater again didn't you
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vulgartongueposting · 11 months ago
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Starting Off Strong
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"Abbess, or Lady Abbess, a bawd, the mistress of a brothel."
In other words, the lady proprietor of a whorehouse. I'm not an etymologist so I don't know (etymology folks pipe in!) but I would imagine this is a cheeky inversion of an Abbess, who is the head of an Abbey or Cloister - in other words, the Nun in charge of running things.
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ebodebo · 3 months ago
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Ghost Garage
—mechanic!simon riley fucking you in his car garage because you couldn’t afford to pay for his services:(( MDNI ofc
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“You’re lookin’ at six thousand for a new engine,” Simon says thoughtfully, scribbling a collection of messy additions in his notebook. “And if you’re lookin’ to do just one set of brake pads and rotors,” he says, scribbling some more, “lookin’ at six hundred even for those.”
Your eyes widen at his words because how the fuck were you ever going to be able to afford this? You swallow hard, pondering your following words. “Do you do discounts or something?” You’re sure you sound like an idiot, but you’re desperate.
The corner of his lip quirks at your question as his eyes stay glued to the notebook paper, still scribbling. “No. Still no discounts ere’,” he says, capping his pen, finally looking at you.
You fidget with your hands, eyes on his. “I—um…there’s no way I can…” you begin, turning your gaze away from him, feeling bashful, “…afford that.” Even though you had come to Simon’s garage before, this was just the first time you outwardly told him you couldn’t afford his services.
He leans back in his chair, the base squeaking a little. “Do ya’know how dangerous it is to drive with worn-out brake pads?” he states, placing the pen in his mouth, awaiting your response.
“Yes. I’m aware, but—” you begin, only for him to interrupt.
“But nothin’,” he calmly says, shifty in the chair, eyes shamelessly dragging down your body. You pretend not to notice even though it invokes an immeasurable amount of wetness to gather in your panties.
He can tell you’re nervous—your body language says it all. Clammy hands you wipe off on your jeans every so often, you’re avoiding direct eye contact with him, and the fact he can hear your heartbeat from where he sits.
He shouldn’t even have unholy thoughts of you come across his mind. But, shocker, he did. Every night from the time you first went to the shop all of those four months ago, he would fist himself in the shower thinking about you.
You, who always had that doe-eyed, glossed-over expression. You, who always had to bring Simon a sweet treat when you came, whether it be candy or some fresh-baked cookies you prepared. Oh, and you, who would hug him after he did your car inspections. Ya, he thought about that one a lot.
He considers your predicament. He has a solution, but it’s risky—perhaps too risky?
Eh, Fuck it. What’s he got to lose?
“Tell ya what,” he starts, standing up from his chair and grabbing the notebook paper with the numbers. “I’ll throw this ere’ piece of paper in the trash—hell, I’ll burn it,” he cocks a brow, “If you do somethin’ for me.” He hovers the small, intimidating piece of paper over a small trash can.
“Anything,” you say, desperation coating your voice. He hums, ducking his head to stare at the trashcan.
“I wouldn’t say that,” he says, followed by a gravelly laugh. You gulp, waiting for him to explain.
“I want somethin’ from ya,” he finally looks up at you, wiping his mask-less jaw with his hand. “Somethin’ that isn’t…money.”
You slightly confound your head. “Like I said…anything,” you amend.
He sticks his tongue in his cheek, drops the tainted paper into the trash, and then takes slow, deliberate steps towards you.
You inhale as he stands before you, unsure of his intentions. Exhaling sharply only when he brings his thumb up, dragging it delicately across your jaw, tilting it up so you are looking at him.
“I think we could figure out a way for you to get that work paid in full,” he rumbles, brushing his thumb against your bottom lip. “And a way I could feel that pretty pussy around me.”
Your eyes widen at his words, dumbfounded by his sheer bluntness and vulgarity. Though you admit, you feel a knot start to form in your lower stomach and more wetness pool between your thighs.
“Unless you don’t want to?” His tone his monotone, no signs of resentment as he drops his hand from your face.
“No—I do,” you affirm, even grabbing his hand and then dropping it from embarrassment. “I just didn’t think…you, uh, liked me like that,” you mutter, shifting on your feet and shifting your gaze to the concrete floor you both stand on.
“Oh, trust me. I like you like that,” he laughs lowly, stepping closer to you, bringing his hand back to the same spot to brush his finger against your pouty lip. “Can I?” He questions his gaze on your lips. You nod, standing on your tiptoes, gripping his neck, and bringing his lips to yours. You could taste remnants of cigarette smoke and the icy tang of Nicorette mint gum.
The kiss quickly became full of fervent urgency. Sloppy lips sucking your own, hands aimlessly gripping any piece of flesh it could, and teeth frantically clashing with your own.
“You do this with all your clientele?” you tease as Simon grips the bottom of your shirt and quickly pulls it off your head.
“Nah,” he coolly says, hands palming your breasts over your bra. “Just the ones I jerk off to.” You gasp at not only his hands on such a sensitive part of you but also his confession.
“You jerk off to me?” you tentatively ask, bringing your hands to grip the hem of his shirt, slipping it off his head. His lips instantly connect with your neck.
“What about it?” he murmurs against your skin, dragging his tongue from the side of your neck to your lips.
“I just…I finger myself thinking about you,” you admit in between his feverish kisses, which are apparently taking away your sense of shame. He pulls back only a little.
“You’re tellin’ me…” he reaches down to bring your hand up, grazing your fingers with his own. “You plunge these in your pussy, thinkin’ about me?” he stares at your fingers, unable to comprehend what he’s hearing. He darts his eyes to yours. “I get you off?”
“Of course you do,” you attest, dragging your hand so it rests on his cock that is tucked away in his greased stained jeans. He groans at your touch.
“Now let me see what I’ve been imagining.”
He wastes no time stripping you bare, throwing your bra and panties off to the side, before he unlatches his belt, roughly yanking his jeans and boxers down just below his thighs.
He grips the back of your thighs before hauling you over to a wood table that currently holds some pens and a toolbox. His lips connect with your collarbone, then to the fat of your breast, as you lazily stroke his cock.
“Little smaller than I imagined,” you cheekily say before Simon lightly nips at your nipple with his teeth, making you moan. He laughs against your skin, sending vibrations throughout your entire body.
“And yet it still makes you fuckin’ wet,” he cockily says as his hand slips to graze your glistening cunt. You don’t even talk; you have no breath left to speak. So, you let out a pathetic noise instead—somewhere between a moan and whine.
“Let me play with ya for a minute,” he murmurs into your ribs, pointer finger brushing against your labia. You squirm at his touch.
“Simon. I just…I need you in me,” you beg, pulling him by the hair so his ear is by your mouth, rocking your hips against his finger in you.
“I’m gonna come as soon as I’m in you, Sweetheart,” he says honestly, pointer plunging into your cunt, gently touching your clit.
“I don’t care…just…just,” you rasp, unable to speak with his hand plunging into you.
“Fine, fine,” he says. He gives his cock a tug before he pokes your entrance with the head, gripping your hips before he pushes inside you a little. He grits his teeth at the sensation, and you whine at the slight pain.
“Open up for me. Come on,” he hisses, throwing his head back as he sinks deeper into you. “There she goes,” he praises, gripping one of your legs and positioning it so it lies straight up against his body. You both groan at the deeper contact.
“Shit,” you curse as Simon starts up a good pace. His cock managed to graze you in all of the right spots—reaching places you didn’t even know was possible.
You knew you both wouldn’t last long at this pace—you’re honestly not so sure he would have lasted at any pace. He was painfully hard when you hadn’t even whipped your tits out.
Though you thought the jokes were on him, as soon as he brought his thumb to stimulate your clit, you were skewing curses, tightening around his cock.
“Fuck. That’s it…that’s—” he panted out as he felt you clamp around him, hearing you yell, ‘Coming,” before he followed with his orgasm.
Once both of your orgasms have subsided, he helps you off the table to grab your clothing. You gently tug on your lip before you speak.
“Also…about the payment?” You shyly question as he pulls his jeans up.
“Consider it handled,” he says with a smirk as he zips up his jeans.
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a/n: bye once again i abused the italicized button
reblogs & comments are encouraged!
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frimleyblogger · 1 year ago
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Lost Word Of The Day (85)
#Durham man -someone who is #knockkneed #mustard #lostwords #obscurewords #logophilia
The glorious city of Durham was once famous for more than its impressive cathedral and castle. It was also the home of the finest quality mustard, the brainchild of a Mrs Chalmers. It was so superior that it blew the socks off the previous stronghold of English mustard production, Tewkesbury. In 1720 the enterprising Mrs Chalmers had invented a method for extracting the full flavour from mustard…
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tricornonthecob · 1 year ago
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Looking up some good 18th century insults to hurl at a catcaller in the Dictionary of the Vulgar tongue that isn't prick or dildo and just
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"It was once fashionable. It's still fashionable, but it was also once fashionable."
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Honestly this book just keeps on giving
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dimity-lawn · 2 years ago
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Do you have any favorite bits of slang from that book that you noticed Pratchett using in discworld?
Unfortunately not any that I can think of off the top of my head. Sometimes I'll write "18th c" or "18th c slang" on a piece of scrap paper and use it as a bookmark to mark examples I come across, but I'm not very consistent about doing this...
I might make a list of terms upon rereading the series, but I'd probably miss terms.
While I can't think of favorites right now, I've included a few of the many examples that I think are neat, as well as a few that would be nice below, followed by their respective entries:
Something that catches my attention is when "foot pad" is used. It's not my favorite, but I find it somewhat amusing because it seems a rather mild term for what it is.
It's not a favorite term, but as I mentioned in another post, the man who runs/owns the livery stable and said that he always gave the customer what he wanted is named Hobson, and I like that Pratchett was able to make a character out of "Hobson's Choice".
In Going Postal, Vetinari mentions the "sisal twostep" and "hemp fandango", and while I'm not sure if those were real terms, there are certainly similar ones (such as "the Paddington Frisk"), and I think it's cool that Pratchett seems to have based it off of period terms (or perhaps used real term(s) that I'm not familiar with).
Honestly, I'm somewhat disappointed that the Nac Mac Feegle didn't (at least to my memory) call a cat a "Grimmalkin", and I'm really hoping that there's (even a minor) witch named Mrs. Evans...
I wonder how bad it would've been if someone tried to say "you are a thief and a murderer: you have killed a baboon and stolen his face" in the presence of the Librarian. Or the Librarian, a licensed thief, an assassin, a watchperson, and an Igor...
I think it would've been funny if Ankh-Morporkians referred to Vimes as something along the lines of "Old Smoaky", "Smoaky Vimes", or "Commander Smoaky", or if someone (perhaps Nobby?) referred to Cheery and Vimes as "Cheery and Peery".
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For anyone wondering what this is about:
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