#pirate terms and phrases

[unboundprompts]

Pirate Terms and Phrases

-> Pirate Lingo

-> A Pirate's Glossary

Batten Down The Hatches - tie everything down and put stuff away for a coming storm.

Brig - a prison on a ship.

Bring a Spring Upon 'er - turn the ship in a different direction

Broadside - the most vulnerable angle of a ship that runs the length of the boat.

Cutlass - a thick, heavy and rather short sword blade.

Dance with Jack Ketch - to hang; death at the hands of the law (Jack Ketch was a famed English executioner).

Davy Jones's Locker - a mythical place at the bottom of the ocean where drowned sailors are said to go.

Dead Men Tell No Tales - the reason given for leaving no survivors.

Flogging - severe beating of a person.

Gangplank - removable ramp between the pier and ship.

Give No Quarter - show no mercy.

Jack - flag flown at the front of the ship to show nationality.

Jolly Roger - black pirate flag with a white skull and crossbones.

Keelhaul - a punishment where someone is dragged under the ship. They are cut by the planks and barnacles on the bottom of the ship.

Landlubber - an inexperienced or clumsy person who doesn't have any sailing skills.

Letters of Marque - government-issued letters allowing privateers the right to piracy of another ship during wartime.

Man-O-War - a pirate ship that is decked out and prepared for battle.

Maroon - to leave someone stranded on a. deserted island with no supplies, typically a punishment for any crew members who disrespected the captain.

Mutiny - a situation in which the crew chooses a new captain, sometimes by forcibly removing the old one.

No Prey, No Pay - a common pirate law that meant crew members were not paid, but rather received a share of whatever loot was taken.

Old Salt - experienced pirate or sailor.

Pillage - to steal/rob a place using violence.

Powder Monkeys - men that performed the most dangerous work on the ship. They were treated harshly, rarely paid, and were expendable.

Privateer - government-appointed pirates.

Run A Shot Across the Bow - fire a warning shot at another boat's Captain.

Scurvy - a disease caused by Vitamin C Deficiency.

Sea Legs - when a sailor adjusts his balance from riding on a boat for a long time.

Strike Colors - lower a ship's flag to indicate surrender.

Weigh Anchor and Hoist the Mizzen - an order to the crew to pull up the anchor and get the ship sailing.

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[buyandsellcar]

[mezimraky]

'europeans are more accepting of ukrainian refugees because they are white' WRONG the same people spouting vitriol against brown people are spouting it now.

[dykealloy]

i keep going back to this moment. obviously there's the palpable devotion from zoro towards luffy which is all very insane, elicits the urge to chew through drywall etc etc. but I can't help but get caught on the way this is phrased. suggesting maybe zoro isn't the only one mihawk is talking about here. as in, I'm getting opla shuggy rant energy, i.e.

which is about as blatant and transparent as it gets in terms of the older wiser figure with a connection to shanks speaking about his own experiences (under the weak veil of this being about Luffy). but back to mihawk talking about zoro whilst also talking about himself. I'm having to extrapolate a fair bit here given my limited knowledge of his history, but here's what we do know - mihawk never belonged to a crew, was a "rival" of shanks before he "lost interest" in killing him at some point after he lost his arm ("it's always for the sake of another" - given how powerful shanks still is at this point - one of the four emperors - i'd like to think there's something more to this).

when zoro falls to his blade outside the Baratie and he tells luffy "that's a more treacherous path than even mine" after hearing his main goal is to become king of the pirates, do you think perhaps there's a chance he's projecting some old buried anxiety/fear from his youth about the thought of facing shanks, standing by his side and falling. It's giving "I am not worthy until I prove I'm the best", which if true, was followed after many years by "Now I am the best and it's hollow and empty and I regret all those days I could have had with you".

luffy gave zoro direction - a greater purpose and a family. luffy enables his aspirations, but he also provides zoro the freedom to have something more than just this obsessive structure where the only thing that matters is becoming top dog - something beyond years and years of endless relentless training fueled in part by his loyalty to kuina but also the grief of her loss. without luffy, zoro could very likely have followed mihawk's path, something @joyish-little-boy pointed out in one of @assiraphales' posts.

despite being recognised by the world at large as the greatest swordsman alive, and supposedly having achieved all there is for him to strive for, mihawk has never struck me as a man awfully satisfied with where he is.

[ltwilliammowett]

Pirate terms

Just in case you decide to turn pirate later on in life, here are a few terms you should be familiar with concerning your new profession. " Gone on the account" was the generally recognized phrase for going A- pyrating. "Finding their market" referred to the successful capture and plundering of a prize. "Looking for merchandise consigned to them" described a pirate vessel cruising for victims, while the phrase "no prey, no pay" meant the crew received no pay unless a prize was captured.

[bethagain]

I wanna talk about Ed’s apology to Izzy.

I’ve seen some consternation about it, but I thought that scene was absolute perfection. 

I love how Izzy’s opening lines show us his state of mind. He wants to be on speaking terms with Ed again, but he doesn't especially want to admit it.

He didn’t mistake Ed for Roach. That’s not even remotely believable. And although we’re clearly meant to think Izzy’s a bit drunk, if you look at the rate he’s been drinking he’s probably got a huge tolerance for alcohol. Otherwise he wouldn’t be upright. 

The script could have given Izzy some other way to insist he wasn’t trying to talk to Ed. “I didn’t see you there.” “I’m looking for sharks.” What he did say is even better, because it’s got an insult built in: “I thought you were someone I actually wanted to see.”

And Ed, who should be mortified, who should be on his knees begging forgiveness, slips right into talking to Izzy like they’re friends again. “Something’s wrong. Feels like a storm’s coming but I can’t see it.” 

It’s something you’d say to someone you’re comfortable with, someone you trust to weigh in. I think some fans wanted to see Ed open with an apology, but Blackbeard doesn’t apologize for things and Ed’s still figuring out how. Instead, the script gives us Ed avoiding the subject: If they don’t talk about it, maybe what he did can be swept under the rug. 

And Izzy’s going to let him do it. He tells Ed he thinks he’s being stupid about the storm, sure. A good first mate calls his captain on his bullshit. But he also passes over the bottle, and Ed takes it. Two comrades drinking together, drinking because life as a pirate is hard, drinking that much because they are tough men. They don’t have to talk, talking isn’t what they do. 

We’ve seen in both seasons that Izzy is used to taking Ed’s abuse. It’s been baked into the story. We’ve been told about Ed the brilliant pirate leader and Izzy the loyal first mate but what we’ve seen is twisted: Ed still brilliant but unstable, Izzy keeping him in line. Izzy trying to break away and failing, Ed taking him back every time. They are best friends and they are terrible for each other, and that is their frame.

But then! Taika and Con are both so good with the facial expressions. We can see the discomfort flickering across Ed’s face. Everything about this interaction has been set up so he could get away without apologizing. And I think that’s how the hurried “Sorry about your leg” hits as hard as it does for me, leaves me feeling something here has changed.  

And the scene confirms it: Even that small phrase is so huge that Ed’s got to run away as soon as he says it. 

And then, look at that tiny smile on Izzy’s face. That “fuck off” is almost happy. As the audience we know that wasn’t the apology Izzy deserved, not by a long shot. But in the frame of the story? It might be enough to set the two of them right again. 

[amuseoffyre]

Thinking about Stede's expression and reaction at the "wild dog" line. (and yes, I'm aware of the connotations of that phrase and why it's not good that Izzy used it to describe Ed)

Izzy doesn't know what happened with Ed and Stede the night of the fuckery. He doesn't know that Ed confided everything to Stede but it gives Stede a new context about what was happening that night, when Ed fell apart in front of him.

Stede didn't know why Ed was "meant to kill you", but the dog metaphor is slamming it home. Doggie heaven. He remembers Ed telling him was meant to send him to doggie heaven, which he assumed was a pirate term.

It recalibrates everything: if Stede was to be sent to doggie heaven, he was the dog that had to be dealt with, especially when Izzy had called him dog to his face several times. On top of this, it lines up with what Chauncey told him in the forest - he brought Ed to ruin.

If Izzy and the crew were willing to get rid of Ed to protect themselves - sending him to doggie heaven - does that mean Izzy was trying to do the same before to protect Ed and his crew? With the duel, with the agreement that the loser would leave the ship, with the betrayal to the English, "it's quick, it's clean"?

Admittedly, no. That's what Izzy told himself he was doing, but it got waaaaaay more personal and bitter, but Stede doesn't know that. It has pushed a new layer of context on him, though, especially about the balance of duty and care between a captain and his crew.

The layers and layers they build in with a single line is staggering.

[carrymelikeimcute]

The 'Hiya boys' scene cracked me up anew when I looked (briefly) into the origins of 'aye aye' as a phrase.

The term 'aye aye' is a Naval term which means . . . 'I hear the order, I understand the order, and I will obey the order.' OR alternatively 'I understand the order and will hasten to comply'.

Just something about Izzy being a sarcastic little shit, using 'aye aye' to brush off Stede's point that he could tell him on deck like it's the pirate equivalent of 'yeah yeah'.

[kit-williams]

Missing them

Male Lead(s): Sor Delyn, Kazi Delax, & Moremo Klaek Female Lead: Dove Universe/Au: Warhammer 40k/Yandere Space Marines Canon Status: Yup it's canon

Dove wakes up in the Roost or Nest alone. No Kazi pressing soft kisses to the underside of her chin to wake her up. Not even Moremo comes to kiss her temple and pull her into his arms to carry her to the breakfast table to discuss the day. Or the rare days that Sor wakes her up... the smell of a fresh pot of recaf lingering on him as he kisses her temple and whispers to her such sweet things away from his brothers... how he tells her such bits and pieces of his love for her that Kazi and Moremo are more eager to give to her.

What Sor tells her lives in that moment between wakefulness and unconsciousness... only living as half memories but she can't help but smile and let her eyelids flutter open looking up at the black eyed man. But they were gone on a long trip to another hive with a large portion of the... I guess rebellion?

She sighs hugging her knees as she had to come to terms with the little peaceful protest turn into... a rebellion. She figures it was always going to turn out this way... she wanted to ignore the attempts on her life. But she couldn't and she was now a rally point for those who didn't want to become a casualty for what was coming.

Dove gets dressed missing the flattering comments and wandering hands just hindering her getting dressed as much as he claimed he was helping her dress. Moremo's polite comments about how she looked helping her pick outfits that were modest and inspiring. Sor hardly helped in this as him usually waking Dove up meant a lazy day for the two of them as Kazi and Moremo were busy and he took his time to enjoy it. She would be in his shirt sitting with him eating breakfast watching something numbing.

She looks over her dataslate as the recaf isn't as good as Sor makes it... even if it's the same stuff they make every morning but it's just special when he makes it. How Kazi will add something sweet to his and to hers... Moremo will always make something that goes well with it. She would joke that Sor makes his with love... Dove just sighs having to put on a brave and happy face as she goes to talk with the underground Voxcasters. How they found someone connect to the largest pirate voxcaster on the planet was beyond her.

Oh how it started out professional but once they were off the air she was asked. "So what's Astarte dick like?"

Dove felt mortified when she blurted out "Which one?" and seeing their eyes widen before grinning. These were the kind of statements she was suppose to avoid but the rest of the day blurs... and blurs. Its a sea of people and faces but none of them being the three she wanted to see. Pale skin... black eyes... and varying lengths of black hair; perhaps one with a bit of grey in it. How no face was theirs... and once again she delayed going to bed because there was no Kazi just dragging her to bed saying they were going to watch a pictshow or whatever weird phrase he would say to disarm her. There was no Moremo coming over to her with his hands on his hips and looking down at her like a disappointed parent; no amount of bargaining would let her stay up later. There was no Sor to pick her up as she started to doze off... no chuckle from him as he did so.

She lays there in the overly large bed alone... no Kazi on her left... no Moremo on her right... no one last glance from Sor as he watched over them from afar... always promising her to sleep in bed with her later as she would ask him too. She was always too tired to call him a liar... because she hoped he would.

The three of them return to the roost after several months away. Moremo would talk to the others about their new swell of strength later... Kazi would greet the lads and lasses that he had personally asked to keep Dove safe... tomorrow. Sor felt the itching need to return to his pattern but first he had to check. The tight shoulders they had relax as they hear their Dove's soft snores. Kazi took the bottom of the bed for now... Sor took her left and Moremo took her right. They were finally home and dove felt like she could smell them in her dreams... they were good dreams that night and would be true dreams in the morning.

taglist @bispecsual @the-californicationist @egrets-not-regrets @libraryshadow @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

[throwingmetothelions]

It’s so important that you read this disclaimer/TWs. I am a southern woman and I will be until I die. When I was a CW major for a decade almost all I wrote were southern gothic pieces, and this does not read like any fic I’ve posted here. This is very much Auntie V’s old writing style. I am taking you to my roots. The other main character in this piece is black. This is your one reminder that I am a black woman. Don’t start no shit - won’t be no shit in terms of my descriptions. Second - I really kinda put a spotlight on Noah at his lowest as far as my writing goes in the beginning. There are a few potentially triggering mental health allusions; some regarding hygiene, and I just wanted to make sure you understand that you aren’t alone. TW: Religious talk, mental health decline, one singular mention of a baby dying with no details, blood mentioned right after that. Oral sex f receiving, D/S dynamic if you squint. I would actually go as far as to say there's a smatter of angst up in this bitch. Supernatural shit. Noah kinda spirals toward the end and slips into madness. Absolute smut because it's me and I have never written anything else here. Let’s get spooky. WC: 6k (I chopped it a lil bit so that’s why it’s all one) 

NoahxOC? Is she really my OC? You be the judge.

It’s been exactly three hours and forty-one minutes since Noah decided that if that one dude in Pirates of The Caribbean could become one with the ship, he could become one with his mattress. No coral or sea stars to adorn him for the rest of his ever, just sweat and a little bit of deodorant, but nothing pretty. Thinks maybe he’ll turn to dust or something easily sweepable. No words and barely breathing. Continues inhaling the smell of incense he didn't light, and swallowing down saliva and self pity. Continues laying. Wallowing. Hits the play button on his memory bank and lets the hate scroll behind his purpling eyelids. 

“It’s all autotune”.

“He was so shaky at the Cleveland show dude idk”.

“They started all that mysterious bullshit with the masks and the no socials and his vocals went to shit immediately. Fuckin’ wild”.

“Noah needs to let Jolly just …” 

A well aimed throw from Nicholas ends with a pen hitting Noah in the middle of his back. “Snap the fuck out of it dawg. Since when have you listened to what people say about your singing? It ain’t true and you know damn well I’d tell you if it was,” Nick sighed as he leaned his acoustic against the desk. There isn’t much to say here. Nicholas has been there, albeit never there in the physical sense of not bathing for over a week and ignoring his best friend’s phone calls until the aforementioned friend threatened him with a welfare check from either him, or the cops. 

People often forget that “blood is thicker than water” is a bastardized phrase. “The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb,” but it is not thicker than the knots that Nick spent an hour combing from Noah’s matted locks after he threw him in the shower and helped him scrub yesterday. Do not speak to Nicholas Ryan about that fucking covenant. He wrote the anthology and dedicated it to Noah long ago. 

“Remember the story your grandma used to tell us when we were younger? Robert Johnson? Maybe you can just sell your soul to a demon and bam. Never miss a note again in your life,” he pokes the last vowel into Noah’s kneecap as he tries to lift the soggy and molded blanket of depression off of that moment. Off of his best bud. “I’m telling you bro, it’s - it’s real. I feel like it really happened,” Nicholas cuts his eyes to Noah for a split second before continuing to thumb the strings of his guitar.

“You also felt like you had Covid that one time, but it was just the jalapenos on that sandwich fucking with your tastebuds so …" Noah dismisses Nick’s 2 AM Red Bull fueled theories and rolls over on the bed to face him. “Besides. If that shit was true I would have done it ages ago,” he chuckles a little bit, and the clearing in his throat reminds him that he hasn’t done that in awhile. 

—---

I ain't goin’ to state no color 

“The lynch mobs ran his family outta town when he was a boy. Been a travellin’ man against his will his whole life. Learned to play in a dark graveyard, though the dead can hear like us”. 

But her front teeth is crowned in gold

“Went by many names, Robert did. Women and whiskey stole his soul long before he sold it to the devil at them crossroads. Only a beast would howl the blues like that”.

She got a mortgage on my body

“His wife and baby died bloody and hollerin’. They wouldn’t let him see the child that lived for that. Your loved ones are never spared from your debts, child”. 

And a lien on my soul

“He was poisoned like a field mouse in a corner basement. Ulcers in his throat where the demons took their chords back one by one. May death be kinder now.” 

—---

Noah shudders at the mental reel of his grandmother spinning that story from her recliner like a textile through her vein-blued fingers. He doesn’t hold on to many memories of her, and knowing that Nicholas is holding them for him settles in his gut like concrete blocks on the ocean floor. May death be kinder now.

“I think it works anywhere too. Johnson held up a guitar at the crossroad and the devil just popped up. I believe in you,” Nicholas whispered the last sentence while catching Noah’s knuckles with the flat of his palm. “I’m going to bed dude. Taking the couch because if you kick that one spot on my shin again I won’t be responsible for my actions,” he bites through a yawn as he drags himself over to the couch by the door. The unspoken knowledge that he would just be there until Noah was Noah again laid itself over the pair along with the dark as the LEDs timer faded out. 

—---

The alarm on his phone vibrated under Noah’s pillow an hour later. 

Gently kicking the blanket off of his body, he turned it off and put the flashlight on the lowest possible brightness. Through the white haze he could make out Nick’s chest as it swelled and fell with quiet breaths. No snores to give away his slumber, but his cracked mouth and the arm hanging down to the carpet told Noah that he was knocked, so his plan was still greenlit. 

Listen. If anyone asked Noah - yeah, it was a weird fucking time to be taking a walk, but his mental health was in the fucking gutter and he’d happily have his band mates vouch for that if he got into trouble. A 3:30 AM walk was better than no walk at all. Fresh air was better than the stale and dust-littered cloud that hung in his bedroom that he’d been choking on for god knows how long. Stretching his arms into his faded navy hoodie (no shirt because they were all in desperate need of some laundry detergent and some scrubbing) and stepping into some gray joggers, Noah gently padded across the floor and thanked some God that the door was cracked already. He patted his pockets: phone, knife, lighter, cigs, keys. He popped his feet into some slides, opened the front door, and Noah Sebastian took off into a humid Appalachian night. 

The stars looked something like crumbs swept from a placemat in their scattering. 

Fireflies peeked through bushes like sun does clouds, and they swirled the same.

Noah thinks thoughts that adults would. This new asphalt they paved looks great. Glad the holes are gone. Anything to keep his brain moving. Not stuck. It’s kinda hot for this time of year. I guess August is still considered summer, though.

See, the rollercoaster of fame was something Noah had been standing in line for since he was 13. He’d been growing and stretching and waiting his turn, but he hadn’t anticipated the steep incline to success. All the eyes were on him all the time, and the urge to spread them around and give them to his bandmates had never been stronger. He thought he wanted this, but the critics came on strong and took the form of delusional children on the internet wavelengths from reality. He felt like shit because, at this point, his arch nemesis was probably a twelve year old that had never seen a concert and he was the grown man assclown that let it get to him. 

Noah had been bracing himself for the inevitable drop that must come, but the only thing he knew for certain was that he absolutely couldn’t handle it. If it all came speeding down and stopped with screeching brakes and smokey sparks, he wouldn’t be the one in control and going off the rails with it all seemed like his only out.

Shaking his head from the fog, he noticed that the jagged white line of paint on the side of the road seemed to fade out. He pins it on a bit of “lazy painters” and a lot of “not my fuckin problem”.

Keep walking. 

His complaint about the heat must have been heard by some alien brainworm because he’s suddenly quite grateful for the hoodie and the breeze that rummages through the leaves like a searching hand in a kitchen drawer. Feels good. 

Keep walking.

The cicadas had stopped screeching. The noise, akin to a violin being played after all of its strings have broken, was gone. Maybe all things must sleep. Maybe they got picked up by an owl. May death be kinder now. Head down. Hood up.

Keep walking. 

Head up. Hood down.

There is no dot of red inside a white paint can, there is no water droplet in an inferno, and Noah is certain that there is no fucking desert in the middle of Richmond, Virginia. 

And yet. 

He finds himself staring out at nothing. There is sand, and clay, something red and dusty and on the horizon there is nothing. Noah whips his head backward and sees the same scene behind him. The road was narrow now, and there was another narrow road of black going straight through it a few feet in front of him. No street signs. Nothing. He rubbed his eyes with his palms as one would if they were waking up from a bad dream, but when his lids opened again he found that nothing changed. Same dirty slides, same clothes, same desert of nothing. Noah walked forward. His steps felt real, and his stomach immediately started to ache. He remembered the story. Remembered the absolute conviction and strength in his grandmother’s voice and teeth when she told him that the crossroads come to you when you need them the most. 

She pointed her finger at him in a way that Southern women do when she told him that praying and practicing, Jesus and magic, and your footpath and your heart’s blood compass could all align somewhere in this world. “All the trees aint your friends, and they keep their secrets in the Spanish moss”.

 Noah grew up on gravel, backwoods revivals, and a fear of God that was overcome through alcohol fueled tears and some screams ripped from his chest by the man himself. Maybe God took a rib as payment, and maybe he yelled like Adam. He didn’t have long to think, because the tornado of realization and helplessness took him down to his knees. The blacktop dug into his skin as he threw his head back. Noah didn’t know what he was feeling, but he had accepted some sort of … fate? Was it fate? Did he deserve whatever was about to happen, and what did he do? Why did it seem like this road was lit up by stadium lights that he couldn't see? Questions on questions, so he closes his eyes once more, places his palms on the tops of his thighs, leans his head back so the ends of his hair brush his heels, and he parts his lips.Tries to breathe. He did not repent in his last moments, but there were pictures floating of Jolly, Nicholas, Nick, and there were late nights and popsicles and beer cans and being young and dying young and that’s all very okay. Noah’s life was okay. May death be kinder now. 

All of a sudden, Noah felt two slender fingers slip past his lips, glide over his tongue, and purposefully gag the shit out of him. He felt cold rings catch behind his front teeth as the owner tried to wrench the fingers back from the wet of his mouth. His eyes flew open with immediate tears as he sputtered and coughed - the fit his reflexes threw landed him on his ass with one arm bracing himself. He hums and spits and jerks his head back and forth. His nose burns now. 

“What the fuck,” he yells as he glares up. Noah catches a glimpse of the veins in his hand as they pop and flare under his tense skin. 

“That’s a naughty word, boy,” the figure blew smoke from its mouth with every word effectively stopping Noah from seeing it clearly. It threw the cigarette to the side and cocked its head. “Try ya words again,” it spoke slowly. 

With the smoke haze gone, Noah got a better look at what he was sharing this space with. If he wasn’t already on the ground he might have been sent there again. His eyes started from the ground up, and they turned around and went down from her head again so no detail would be missed.

She was at least six feet tall. She stood barefoot, toes painted honeycomb yellow and some symbols tattooed on the tops of her feet. Gold anklets, bangles, and various types of black cord wrapped each ankle. Her legs were long and brown like cattails, and they spoke to unearthly strength as she stood flat footed. 

Noah couldn’t stop himself from memorizing the way the stretch marks on her exposed hips moved like sawgrass on a marsh plain when she shifted her weight. She wore a tattered skirt made of dull black leather and some other sort of hide. Her stomach pudged over the sides of her skirt, and he saw the same symbols her feet carried spread across it. Her chest was hidden by a bandeau made of the same black leathery material, but Noah caught the curve and fall of her tits and committed them to memory immediately. Her skin was the color of cassava and it held a sparkle. It could have been a sheen of sweat or something ethereal. Her arms ended in hands that held scars, a black hobo bag, and the same tattoos. Her fingertips were ink black, and her fingernails were short, and the same goldish yellow as her toes. Golden rings covered in ash and gems clung tightly to her digits, and her hair was piled high on her head; a beehive weaved of black locs adorned with glittering beads and small animal bones that hung and fell with the breeze surrounding them. Noah still swears he saw a Carolina wolf spider crawl around one. Her face. Her face was composed of freckled cheeks, sharp eyes the color of pitch, and that same mysterious tattooed symbol on the bridge of her nose. The plumped two-toned lips she had curled into a smile and revealed the gold capped fangs on her canines. A forked tongue shot out and licked over one, and he couldn’t help but assume it was some sort of warning. 

“Try ya words. Again,” she spoke. 

“This shit can’t be real,” Noah mumbled as he leaned his forehead on the palm of his hand. “Who are you and what the fuck is going on?”

She chuckled and shook her head at him, her necklaces rattled as she explained, “I am … well, the humans call me a few names. I know who you are though, Noah,” she sneered again as his pupils blew open. 

At this point, he was ready to swing on whatever the fuck this thing was. She was a deadly brand of unconventional gorgeous that brought the fog right back to his brainspace, but he’d convinced himself that it wasn’t considered hitting a girl if that girl was some ancient all knowing being.

“They call me ‘The Tempter,’ ‘The Accuser,’ ‘Belial,’ ‘Satan,’ among others. I’ve never been one for formalities, love. Call me Luci. I am the one that they presumably told you to fear,” she said as she knelt down to Noah’s eye level. “... boo,” her fingers wiggled around her face as small flames erupted from the tips.

“You’re - you’re the …” he stuttered as if he’d been backhanded.

“The …” her eyebrows raised with the octave of her voice.

“The fucking devil? I’m gonna pass the fuck out. This isn’t … you’re not real. You’re not real. This isn’t fucking real,” Noah rose to his feet from shaking knees. Every childhood Sunday was spent under a weather-beaten willow tree memorizing historic ways to shame the devil. To shame her. There was no pulling him out of this dream state, though he wished to hell and back that Nicholas would. He was sure his body should be flailing if it was still on the bed at all. Surely Nick could hear the curdling screams he was trying to emit. 

Luci brought a hand to Noah’s now tear streaked face, black smoke rising around them in billows. “Nicholas is - he is not going to make this decision for you. There’s nothing to be saved from because you’re not dreaming. I think you know why I’m here Noah. I know what it feels like to fall from grace, and I can pull you back from that ledge. You have somethin’ that I need, and it’s just a snap of the fingers,” she delivered a gleaming half smile and a raised eyebrow.   

Was his soul that valuable? And why did the preachers leave out that the devil watches people like some sort of demonic pervert? Was she just a demonic pervert? 

“I resent that,” she frowns over at him. “Trying to stop me from reading your thoughts is kinda   dumb. Blueberry muffins, Pepsi, fuzzy blankets … grass flip flops?” 

Noah decided that if he talked words with his mouth that his brain wouldn’t think too hard. Maybe. He’d accepted death twice that night already, and his music was his reason for breathing. Figured if his music career advanced, if he won, and he took the boys with him that … well, that all of his important things would be safe. No one could harm them. Call it selfish and narcissistic, but he felt that there was quite literally nothing on this mortal coil that he would be afraid to lose aside from them. As painful as it hit him, this wasn’t the first time he’d thought about this so there was no split second decision here. “So … what do I have to do to keep from falling? Like … to keep the fame?” 

Luci wasn’t taken aback at how expeditious he was with his decision. She’d been tasting the drive and hunger that he held in his chest for years through the atmospheric ether, and she craved it. He was so much more powerful than he would ever know, and she cursed his maker for the insecurities he plagued him with. They were insecurities that Noah thought she’d caused for a long time, and it couldn’t have been further from the truth. She was never the harbinger of the dark that nestled in his ligaments. “It’s not the way you think. It’s a bit more … personal and up close,” she mused as they looked each other dead in the eye - crow’s feather black to cracked chestnut brown. Luci reached a hand out and placed it on Noah’s flushed cheek. “Now,” she licked his pulse point, “I will give, and you will do the taking. I will speak, and you listen,” her voice flows out with another puff of smoke, and the smell of burning pine straw floats between them.

Noah mentally thumbs through the brain file labeled “Dumb As Fuck Things That Nick Folio Said While High,” and his mind pulls the page titled “Fear Boners,” to reference his current state. The devil was always shown as hot, but the realization that she was a leather-wearing tribal goddess that could kill him with a singular blink was a lot. May death be kinder now. This information was apparently well received by his conscience, and his cock.

Noah swears he feels her jagged fingernails carve a home in the nape of his neck, but her hands remain on her curved hips. He can make out whips and whirls of some sort of mist floating around her fingers. He feels his sweat dampened lips part open as the pressure around his throat increases and her stance stays the same. Unwavering and violently sure of herself, Luci relaxes the hold and speaks.

“Take it off,” she doesn’t ask. The devil doesn’t ask when she can smell how desperate someone is for her unholy helping hands. 

He makes quick work of throwing his hoodie to the eastern wind, and he had a hand in the band of his sweatpants before it stopped him. It - that misty glitter magic she was using … “The Force,” or whatever the shit from Star Wars was. Is she where they got the idea for - regardless. Luci’s magic brought his hand to a halt. 

She lifted her foot up and tapped the asphalt they stood on, her bangles gently clattering. The hard surface of black grit became a softer patch of Kentucky bluegrass; green, lush, and dew sprinkled. Luci walked behind Noah and let her hands wander down his torso. She stopped to pluck at his already hardened nipple, and the goosebumps Noah had been pricked with seemed to multiply. 

Her fingertips danced over the happy trail Noah was suddenly made well aware that he had. The feeling of her magic and the warm southern breeze twirling through the light hairs there told Noah that she might break him, and that he would beg for nothing less. “That’s a good portrait of Grim,” Luci quips as she moves to kneel at Noah’s feet, “we go way back,” her golden fangs scrape the tattoo that spreads across Noah’s torso. 

“Fuck yes,” he groans as his hips buck up at nothing. 

Luci drags his pants down his legs slowly, just enough to let the band catch on the head of his dick before letting his cock spring up to smack against his stomach. She wanted to hear that hiss she knew Noah kept under his tongue. “Tell ya what,” her forked tongue darted out to catch the small pearl of precum that had gathered at Noah’s untouched tip, “I’m gonna have my fun, and you’re gonna let me know why you deserve to be up at the tippity-top where the angels play, hmm?”

She rose to her feet and met Noah’s eyes again. One finger underneath his chin, the smell of the pine straw again, and the gathering mist were enough to bring his mouth forward and onto hers. He moaned so deeply it would have been some type of embarrassing if he was anywhere else, but the feeling of sucking in her plump bottom lip and licking over her teasing tongue with his own was sending Noah to a different plane of feel-good. 

Luci pulled away before she snapped her fingers and brought about a chair from some other universe. Nothing remarkable about it, Noah thinks, just plain brown wood. It looked like the broken seats that he’d seen off to the side of his grandma’s kitchen. No use sitting on it - those seats were for old newspapers and grocery bags and not the devil, but what the hell did he know? “Ya mouth may not always sing perfect, but you can come show me what else it can do,” she crooked a finger at him and pulled him over and to his knees in front of her. She sat in the chair and with a dismissive wave of her hand, her skirt caught the wind. Luci leaned back and spread her thighs open. 

Noah knelt in a way that said that no object forged by man would keep his body down, and levitating up to her spread before him would be the only honorable end to this. May death be kinder now. He took in the glistening lips, the way the brown gave way to the pink of her core, and the way that his tongue felt magnetized to that spot. “Looks like honey,” he mumbled as wrapped an arm under each thigh and pulled Luci to the edge of her seat. Noah brought his mouth about two inches away from her cunt. He took in the dark patch of curls above her slit, the way that they faded where her puffy lips started, and the way that he knew he’d have to work to get to the heart of her. 

Luci reached a hand down and used her middle and index fingers to spread herself further. Gathering a string of slick, she dangled it above Noah’s now open mouth and like a traveler finding water in the Atacama he took it down with a groan. Tasted like honey and something dark. “Come talk to her. Tell her why you deserve it all,” Luci threads her hand through Noah’s hair and beckons him forward with a tug. 

The tip of Noah’s tongue applies so little pressure that you wouldn’t have known he made contact with her folds if she hadn’t arched her back off the chair. “I uhm. I think I deserve it because,” he pauses to give her clit a kiss, savoring the way that her bud fit perfectly between his pursed lips, “because I know I've given this all that I have to give. I’ve already given it my heart and soul,” he licks around it in a wide circle before stopping his sentence with one more peck. 

“Keep going,” Luci mumbles as she lets her head roll back. Her locs fell around her as she let him worship her pussy. Feminine power brought the best of these mortal men to their knees, and she was not new to this. What she wasn’t prepared for was the stark smell of his yearning. This one didn’t just want to trade his soul for fame like the rest. A few touches below the belt and they were too bound by greed to be of any use at all. Luci couldn’t smell the green of that greed at all. Not just brimstone and hot guilt … he was all jasmine and cold water, moonbeams and sawgrass. Noah smelled like all he wanted to do was stay down on his knees with his lips on her lips, and it made her veins swell. She was losing her grip on her own magic, and bowing to the mercy of his. 

“And I think that the world needs to hear my voice,” Noah sucked one of her lips into his mouth and softly pulled while she pushed his face further into her pussy. His hands gathered as much of her ample thighs as they could, and his fingertips pressed into the muscles until small circles formed. Anything to ground himself and keep him from floating up to the wispy clouds where his head already was. “And I think that I’m multi-talented. I write and produce my own shit ya know,” he brings her throbbing clit back between his lips, starts a slow suckling pace, and moans from the back of his throat. Noah’s eyes close, and the only thing that changes his rhythm is Luci’s bucking. 

She brings her feet up from the grass to the rungs on the bottom of the chair and uses the leverage to lift her ass off the seat a bit. “Yes. Lick that fucking pussy,” she grits from behind clenched teeth as she brings both hands to his head and grinds her hips into his busy mouth. She was gone. The feeling of Noah working over her pussy with an expertise only found before in the mouths of gods was all but too much. “You're gonna make me cum on that tongue. Please make me cum on your tongue,” Luci feels the muscles in her upper back flex as she continues the filthy pace she’s set against his face.

Noah can feel her wetness spreading across his cheeks and down his chin as she does so. He knows he could drown in it, and he left the graceful art of giving two fucks back at home. This entire time he’s been ignoring the ache in his dick - scared that, at this point, he might be so hard that it would literally hurt to touch. In another universe, if this was some sort of sleep paralysis episode, he knew he’d wake up covered in his own dried cum. Wondered if he’d wake Nick up with the moans because he was probably humping the mattress, or fucking against the blanket. 

Noah didn’t have to beg for her orgasm with his words. The burn in his bent knees, the panting breath he hadn’t been able to catch since her juices hit his lips, and the act of accepting of a distinguished death by drowning screamed at her - yelled with all their might to flood plains in the way that monsoons do. 

Luci braced herself with one hand on the back of his head, and one hand gripping the side of the chair with such force the wood splintered. She came with a hard roll of her hips and a cry that could have stretched from one asteroid to another - wide and ringing. She thinks, for sure, that she obtained some humanity through it all. She offered Noah communion in a new way, and let him thank her for the gifts in a sense. Blood and body. May death be kinder now.

Noah never let her thighs go, but he traded his grounding grip for patterns rubbed in softly by satisfied hands. “I’m not saying I thought about it before, but the movies ain’t got shit on this”, Noah licked the inner crease of her thigh with a restless tongue and delighted in the jolt. He watched her regain her breath and thought about how, no matter the outcome, the power trip he’d just taken wouldn’t be matched. He, Noah Sebastian Davis, had made the devil herself fall apart underneath him. He was a force of nature that wasn’t to be questioned. He was the fucking king. 

He remained knelt at this altar. 

Devotion be damned, this one was holy to him. 

That old song tangled through his bones like the veins on an arrowplant leaf. Noah could hear it thrum internally as it traveled around his chest cavity and flew behind his eyes. 

I ain't goin’ to state no color 

But her front teeth is crowned in gold

She got a mortgage on my body

And a lien on my soul 

Thank you! We may see a part 2 if enough of you ask for it? But that definitely wouldn’t star Noah *cough*. 

[medicinemane]

I don't have an opinion that's solid enough to be formed into a proper law (seeing as laws you don't really get to put nuance or shades of grey in since it'll be down to what some random asshole judge decides so you gotta write it right), but this is generally my opinion on copyright

Basically I think copyright is important for smaller creators and is the right thing to do, but once you get up to these massive corporations I feel like it just holds back the public good (literally the stated goal of US copyright is something along the lines of to serve the public good)

Small creators 100% need mechanisms to keep control of their work and keep pricks from reposting it with the watermarks cropped out

Massive ass music companies lose nothing if someone plays some song in the background of their lets play or whatever (in fact they stand to gain, I've bought an album because of that before), and they kinda just make everything worse for everyone

Sadly I don't have the legalese to phrase where the cut off is, nor do I have the foresight or mind of a loophole finding lawyer to close every loophole (Like how do we keep sony from just hiring every artist as an independent contractor in what I'm proposing? Gotta hash that out in clear terms if you're making a law)

Still, that's my stance. Individuals and small groups deserve protections cause they need it, big ass companies like disney and sony can get fucked in part because they are in zero danger of someone displacing them in the market by selling Spider-Man merch or whatever

(This is also my feelings on piracy. Don't pirate from small groups, pirate like hell from big places)

[princess-of-the-corner]

I suppose some explanation on Yamato's gender may be in order. The first time we hear of Yamato, it's with the phrases "Kaido's son" and "young master."

Then we meet him and get this:

That title box is one of only three times in the whole manga that Yamato is referred to with female terms. The other two are: the flashback where he is called "Oni Princess" and finds Oden's journal, and when a bunch of pirates who haven't been introduced yet call him Kaido's daughter, to which he gets visibly upset.

A lot of fans of One Piece don't seem to accept him as trans, despite every other character still using masculine terms (he/him, son, Yamabro*), followed by a section where he declines to join Nami in bathing with the girls because there's "no mixed bathing in Onigashima" (that's the castle's name) and immediately joins in with bathing with the men.

See now I'm just getting flashbacks to the short stint in Black Butler where people insist that Grell is a man.

[bidisastersanji]

Laputa: castle in the sky-inspired ZoSan AU !!! Strap in gang because it would be just SO perfect- and they can even join the pirates at the end! ALSO AIRCRAFT PIRATES!!

Sanji as Sheeta: peaceful teenager of royal blood, managed to escape his dangerous family as a child with his mom and lived on the ground herding sheep and farming- but she died very shortly after their escape, and passed on the stone and the secret words of laputa to him.

He is then adopted by his adoptive father figure Zeff, a neighboring owner of an inn and cooks to earn his keep

Zoro as Pazu, kind orphan teen working in the mines who’s childhood best friend Kuina died a couple of years ago. Her dream was to find Laputa, and nobody believed her that it was real. One day Zoro will prove to everyone that Laputa is real.

Sanji is abducted from Zeff and being transported in an airship by Agent Muska Captain Bege, himself funded by the military might of General Charlotte LinLin, who wants the fabled power of Laputa for herself

The airship is attacked by Dola Luffy and his gang of pirates, who just want the treasure of Laputa + their crewmate Robin wants to learn the history of the land but they have no idea what they’re getting into

Sanji climbs outside the airship window to try and escape the Baron but ultimately slips and falls

It’s a normal evening/night in the mine for Zoro when he sees a blue light descending from the sky

He catches this mysterious floating boy in his dark clothes and takes him home

The next morning Sanji makes him breakfast and talk, and Zoro opens up about his ambition to complete Kuina’s dream and find Laputa

They’re found and pursued by the straw hat pirates as well as Bege- Sanji disguised in Kuina’s girl clothes, despite his long hair, doesn’t work when they find his old clothes and deduce the “teen girl” was him, starting a long chase

They are saved by the crystal when they fall down the mine, floating down, deep into the pit

Sanji reveals his link to Laputa and his secret name (super long secret name ending in Vinsmoke)

They’re eventually captured by Big Mom’s forces, they show Sanji the robot and reveal he is now the rightful heir to Laputa- although he is not told what exactly caused his family’s downfall in the end

They needed the stone and him because Charlotte wants to marry him to her daughter and thus link her by blood to the power of Laputa, legitimising her claim

Zoro is put in the dungeons and tied up and he tries to escape to save Sanji but no luck. He’s forced to take some money and go home.

When he gets home, depressed, Luffy and his gang are waiting for him and they team up to go save Sanji

Super cool scene where they fly in on the fortress - Sanji accidentally activates the killer robot with the ancient phrases and is shocked by the destruction as the robot tries to protect him- Zoro manages to save Sanji but they drop the crystal behind

Working together with the strawhats, Sanji shares what he saw with their navigator Nami in terms of directions and they manage to tail Big Mom’s ship

Airship shenanigans and outfit change (Sanji in the big poofy pants!!) Sanji starts cooking for everyone and the strawhats never want him to leave! Meanwhile Zoro helps Usopp and Franky with running the machinery

Cute scene where they snuggle under a shared blanket in the crows nest during night’s watch

They’re attacked by General Charlotte’s ship and Sanji and Zoro are carried away by a storm in the crow’s nest, partly because of Zoro’s bad sense of direction when using the controls - he sends them straight into a huge cloud

They wake up on Laputa, tied to each other, and Sanji is trembling, overcome with bad memories as they go exploring, and Zoro holds his hand the whole time.

Charlottes forces invade Laputa but Bege betrays them and takes control of the fortress.

Meanwhile, the strawhats had been captured: Zoro goes to help them escape and arms them - but Sanji gets captured by Bege who needs him to access the royal areas of Laputa.

Bege starts playing around with Laputa’s destructive power and Sanji bites his hand and steals the crystal, running away

Meanwhile Zoro is in hot pursuit, gets lost and nearly falls off of Laputa (it keeps moving on its own!!) and starts crawling back up through some weird tunnels

Bege is shooting and Sanji, cutting off his braids, and Zoro gets to him just in time and bargains for just a hug to say goodbye

Sanji teaches him the ancient words and together they trigger Laputa’s destruction

They manage to get away and are found by the strawhats, who managed to get lots of gold

And thus begins their adventures as pirates!

Gosh i wish I could imitate the Ghibli style it would look so cool to see the strawhats as Dola pirates!!!

Also, thoughts on replacing « Laputa » with « Skypeia »?

[writingraven]

【 interactions will come from main blog: @flyovertheandesman 】

「 I do not claim to be an expert on anything I post here 」

「 please correct me or add information if you can ; I will really appreciate it ! 」

「 posts will be edited as I learn more on a topic ; addendum links will be here if the added information is abundant 」

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[ltwilliammowett]

Naval Slang

Aloof On lee shore, the order keep aloof meant to keep the ship's head nearer to the wind to prevent the vessel from being driven on the shore. Hence the modern expression to stay aloof means to keep away from, or keep your distance.

Black List A record of a person's misdemeanours kept by some officers for their private use but not only officers, the Admiralty has also one for their officers.

Bread Hooks Hands or fingers when used in the ship's mess.

Catgut Scraper Any of the fiddlers in the ship's band.

Foul up If an anchor becomes entangled with its cable, it is fouled up. A fouled berth is caused by another vessel anchoring too closely, where there could be a collision. A foul bottom means that it is difficult to secure anchors in the sea bed. Fall foul of is a nautical term for becoming impeded.

Honesty amongst Thieves The sea thieves, pirates, exacted such severe punishments for stealing from the commonwealth booty, or one another, that there was very little theft among their company.

Landmark This is a point on the landscape from which a ship takes reference- so a landmark decision meant that the captain was sure of what he was going to do because of the lie of the land that he could see.

Lap-Clap Copulation. To get a lap-clap was to become pregnant.

The Mad House The offices of the Admiralty in London.

Sling your Hook Unpopular ship mates were told to go and sling their hammocks elsewhere. Space was at a premium on ships, and places to sleep difficult to find.

Sewn up, all sewn up, all stiched up To be all sewn up means that everything is finished. A sailor died at sea was sewn inside his hammock with a cannonball at his feet, before being despachted to the deep in a burial at sea. Traditionally, the last stich was placed through the nose to ensure that the man was really dead. It also thwarted his ghost from appearing on the deck after burial. The custom is said to have originated when a sailmaker accidentally put his needle through the nose of a corpse and the shock made the cataleptic victim revive and sit up. Probably the phrase stiched up also comes from the practice of stiching dead sailors into their hammocks.