#black iron prison

[damez1979]

Jacob's Final Showdown in Black Iron Prison | The Callisto Protocol: Tower

[fogaminghub]

🎮 Ready to take on the deadliest foes of Black Iron Prison? 🎮 As we approach the highly anticipated launch of [Redacted] on October 31, check out our in-depth guide to survive against terrifying enemies like the crafty Cybernetic Switchers and relentless Dasher! 

[kizzer55555]

PROTECT THE CHILDREN!

Something happens and the Justice league need some information about ghosts. Specifically, those associated with the infinite realms. Unfortunately, the amount of experts on that topic is severely lacking. They seek out a pair of scientists who had stopped by Star City for a ghost convention and learned some of their devices actually worked on ghosts. However, they end up meeting a ghost at that convention who lets it slip that the Fenton couple are absolute morons and to just avoid them. They know practically nothing. If the Justice League really wants information, they should ask one of the Fenton kids instead. But be warned…if anything happens to those kids, the ghosts will rip them apart.

Because in this universe, Danny and Jazz spend most of their time protecting the other ghosts from their parents just as much as they protect the town from ghosts. Even when Danny is Phantom, the other ghosts treat him more as a friend and like to poke around and mess with him. But the ghosts essentially pack bonded to those two kids, so while it’s all fun and games to mess with them and cause a little bit of destruction, if anyone actually messed with them, there would be hell to pay.

The Justice League does not know this. All they know is that ties between the infinite realms and earth are so bad that most contact has been cut off besides violence, and somehow, these two kids are the only credible experts the ghosts might listen to.

Little did they know how protective the Amity park ghosts actually were, and how difficult it would be to get within 5 feet of the kids, let alone talk with them.

[male-us-prison-experience]

WHY AMERICAN PRISONERS HAVE TO WEAR A UNIFORM

In (almost) all American prisons, prisoners are now required to wear a uniform (again). This uniform is either a two-piece, consisting of trousers and a shirt, with the trousers held up by an elastic band around the waist, or a one-piece, a kind of overall, a so-called jumpsuit, which is usually closed at the front with a row of snaps. Nowadays, these uniforms have short sleeves; in cold weather, prisoners often are allowed to wear a sweater underneath.

The appearance of prison uniforms in the United States varies from state to state and from institution to institution, and is usually determined by the prison authorities themselves. The uniforms are either made in a solid color - preferably orange, but also red, pink, green, blue, gray and yellow - or as a horizontally striped kind of zebra suit, colloquially known as 'prison stripes', with black and white stripes being the standard, but green and white, orange and white and red and white also occur.

Such prison stripes have become very popular again, especially in recent decades, and harks back to the classic convict uniform that was common at the end of the 19th and beginning of the 20th century. The current striped uniform differs from this in two respects: the sleeves were still long at the time, and the stripes were much narrower. The jumpsuit version did not exist in the past either.

Prison uniforms are common in most countries, although they are usually not as strikingly designed as the American ones; as far as I know, prison stripes aren’t in use nowadays in any other part of the world. In Europe, it is usually a two-piece uniform in a grey or blue colour, which does not make a prisoner stand out very much in a larger crowd. This one underneath is from England.

In America, too, khaki or a blue type of denim was common in many prisons until a few decades ago. Regularly, it was even still permitted to wear your own clothes, at least in your own cell(block). That has changed. This picture shows a working crew of inmates in Texas.

What are the main reasons why prison authorities require all prisoners to wear a (conspicuous) uniform (permanently)? This is not only done – that morally controversial motive is often certainly present in the background – from the point of view of the call for a certain stigmatization, to make the wearer of such a uniform a social outcast, both to make him feel that himself, and to show him that way to others, the latter as a warning: watch out for this guy.

There are also a number of rational arguments for doing this. Searching for information on the internet, I come to the following motives based on various sites

1.First of all, safety. A (conspicuous) uniform makes a prisoner easily recognizable as such. Bright colours also make him clearly visible from a greater distance. It reduces the risk of escape attempts, because a prisoner is also recognizable to outsiders, and in his uniform it is less easy to mingle with the public unseen.

This is extra important because many prisoners - although usually only those with lighter sentences, and only those who are not considered really dangerous - do community work outside the prison during the day, as cleaning roads or digging fenches.

In order to prevent any escape attempts, they almost always have to wear leg-irons, but a recognizable uniform puts a stop to this too.

This recognizability is increased because the name of the correctional institution is usually printed in capital letters on the back of his uniform, in the case of prison stripes often in read.

Incidentally, that is one reason why prison stripes - also the standard outfit for the chain-gang - have become popular in that case. Since road workers often wear orange clothing, a prisoner in an orange uniform can be more easily confused by the general public. With prison stripes, that risk does not exist. They stand out in the crowd.

2. A uniform emphasizes the equality of all prisoners, and also the sharp distinction with the guards. It makes things much clearer for the latter; the risk of confusing the inmates with visiting outsiders (family, workers, doctors) is then minimal.

The obligation to wear a uniform moreover prevents the development of a visible hierarchy among the prisoners, which can be expressed in the wearing of expensive brand clothing; a discussion that also plays a role with regard to school uniforms. The risk of theft or violent robbery of each other's clothing is thus nil.

A uniform also strengthens the mental awareness of the inmates themselves that they are prisoners now, and thus has a positive influence on their behaviour: they become more compliant, as confirmed by testimonies of their own. This awareness of the loss of their citizen identity together with the loss of their freedom becomes even stronger if their prison number is printed on their uniform too.

A uniform hairstyle – in a number of American prisons, all new prisoners are not only forced to put on a uniform immediately upon arrival, but then also get a complete headshave – also contributes greatly to this. Those two pics underneath shows this transformation, showing a new inmate from Oklahoma before and after his make-over.

3.In line with this: a prison uniform also somewhat prevents gang formation – a major problem in American prisons – because gang members usually want to distinguish themselves by external markings.

The more strictly the uniform requirement is enforced, including THE WAY in which the uniform is worn – in the case of a two-piece shirt tucked into, or not tucked into, the pants, in the case of a jumpsuit all the snaps closed to the last, not only when going to court – the less possible this is. Prisoners are also always explicitly forbidden to make any changes to their uniform themselves, or to provide it with any 'decoration' (which could after all form a certain code).

4.With a prescribed prison uniform, which often (but not always) includes certain footwear, the prison authorities can ensure that all prisoners wear the clothing that, according to the circumstances, is the most practical and safest. No belts in the trousers (but elastic) or laces in the shoes, to prevent suicide. Cotton slippers or plastic sandals, to make it more difficult to run away quickly outside.

Sturdy short boots are often prescribed as work shoes, especially for the chain-gang, because in this case a heavy chain, secured with a padlock, is fastened around the (left) ankle of the prisoner.

Clothing with a minimum number of pockets, so that concealing weapons (and this can also be a knife from the kitchen) or contraband becomes much more difficult. In the two-piece uniform, the trousers have no pocket, the shirt only one, for a handkerchief or glasses. The same applies to the jumpsuit: a small breast pocket for that purpose is all, nothing more.

Jumpsuits have the advantage from a security perspective that they are not only a real eyecatcher, but also that they take a little longer to get rid of (to exchange for other clothing on the run) and offer more protection to the prisoner himself against potential anal rape; with a two-piece uniform, trousers can be pulled down by force more quickly.

5.A fixed uniformstyle also, on the other hand, offers the prison authorities the possibility to differentiate between prisoners themselves, with colour codes. It makes it possible to place prisoners of very different kind who live together in visible categories, from more to less (escape) dangerous. This is also useful for the guards, because then they know more easily who they should pay special attention to. Red in that case usually means dangerous, green safe.

This can also be done in the striped version, where black and white is standard, and red and white (or orange and white) is then also usually considered the biggest security risk, green again as the lowest.

[starsandmoonys]

James, confessing about his relationship with Regulus: Pads, what I am about to tell you is gonna make you wanna kill me.

Sirius: I'm not gonna kill you, James. It takes too much time to break in a new best friend.

[behsjdjenbrbebdbe]

my angsty/sad girl playlists

beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy: playlist based off the movie beautiful boy (2018)

distant echoes: melancholy-sounding r&b songs. meant to be listened to in a car while it's raining.

do you feel alone right now?: based off the movie, donnie darko (2001).

eps1.0_hellofriend.mov: based off the tv series 'mr. robot'. i highly recommend the show if you haven't seen it and you are mentally ill or are a film bro.

for 6 months i couldn't sleep: based off one of my favorite movies, fight club (1999). specifically based on the narrator of the story who suffers from insomnia bcs i too have insomnia and it's a very trippy experience.

hell is a teenaged girl: seems self-explanatory

i don't feel...well: based off the movie pearl (2022) bcs it changed me. this is mostly based off the monologue that pearl does near the end of the film.

i just...i wished that you liked me: based off ladybird (2017). if you have mommy issues and are scared of growing up, this is the playlist for you.

i just want so badly to be rid of you: based off of the australian teen tv series, dance academy (2009), and the main relationship between christian and tara. if you don't watch the series, it's also just a sad breakup playlist.

i knew he wanted cool girl: based off of amy dunne from gone girl (2014). basically a playlist for when your fed up being a woman in a man-dominated society but in a barely suppressed female rage type of way.

it's getting bad again: pov: you have crippling depression and don't know what to do with yourself.

it's not your fault: playlist for the girlies with heaps of childhood trauma

i used to be a brother: based off the movie iron claw (2023), another one of my favorite movies.

i was perfect: based off the movie black swan (2010), specifically nina and her crippling perfectionism.

"just love me and eat": playlist that my friend actually put together in slide show form for me and i just copied her. it's based off of the movie bones and all (2022).

loneliness has followed me my whole life: based off the movie taxi driver (1976), specifically the main character, travis bickle

may december: based off the film of the same title, but focused on joe and how he probably feels as a victim of grooming.

meet me in montauk: based off clementine and joel from the movie eternal sunshine of the spotless mind (2004) and their relationship.

mitski.: all of my favorite mitski songs

mother and child have crazy beef: based off the movie mother (2020) but if you have mommy issues, this playlist is for you.

nick dunne: playlist from the perspective of nick dunne from gone girl (2014)

the night we met: songs that clay jensen from 13 reasons why would relate to or enjoy.

or maybe i was just a girl, interrupted: basically hell is a teenaged girl all over again but with slightly different songs and it's loosely based on daisy from girl, interrupted (1999)

overworked & underpaid: playlist for those who were born to slay but forced to work and study

please, hurry leave me (i can't breathe): all my personality disorder girlies RISE.

pray for the best, prepare for the worst: based on detective loki from the movie prisoners (2013)

radiohead!: all my favorite radiohead songs

the regularness of life is too hard for me: based off of christopher moltisanti from the sopranos.

romeo & juliet: songs that capture the tragedy of their romance

sedate me: a rainy day playlist but sad.

today is not a good day: based on ruben from the sound of metal (2019)

"you all want me to fail.": based on abigail from the series dance academy (2009). basically a good playlist for if you're a perfectionist (derogatory)

"you leave me alone now.": based off the film the hunt (2012), about a man who was falsely accused of a crime and how it ruined his life.

[mus1g4]

Three Georgia Convicts on a Chain Gang Circa 1918

Black and white striped prison denims with welded leg irons.

[toxicmetalzine]

I, Cursed

New "Blades" single and lyric video from I, Cursed, a band that combines ferocious death metal and grindcore. Watch the lyric video right here: https://toxicmetalzine.com/post/new-blade

[stable-confusion]

Stable Diffusion's Pro-Slaver Bias?

Continuing my investigation into Stable Diffusion bias, I experimented with the prompts cops:slavers and cops|slavers (with illustration:0 in the negative prompt to cut amateur art).

I first tried the SDAI-FOSS GUI with Realistic Vision on Local Diffusion because I was offline at the time, and it seemed to think cops + slavers = superheroes.

I thought maybe it didn't know what a slaver was, but a straight prompt of slaver consistently created pics of superheroes.

The Open Stable Diffusion GUI with Realistic Vision online via Stable Horde was a little less outrageous, though it still often made cops:slavers look like tv heroes.

The pro-cop bias is obvious, but it seems how you get your models can also make a difference. It may have been an older or newer version of Realistic Vision... or GUIs may be pushing their own biases. Check your sources.

[damez1979]

The Callisto Protocol: Below – Exploring the Dark Colony

[crisicsgames]

CORRI ISAAC DEAD SPACE 2

[male-us-prison-experience]

Of course in full restraints. No half measures! As is written on the wall of his barred cell: "Inmates outside of cell must be cuffed & shackled at all times". First handcuffed, then black box over it, then attached to a belly-chain, then the leg-irons locked on, and finally hand- and foot cuffs connected with an extra chain. Out you go!

Getting prepared for transfer to the big house.

[mcyt-builds-contest]

Pandora"s Vault:

Contained : Dream, Tommyinnit, Ranboo, Technoblade, Connoreatpants

Series : DSMP

Propaganda : its so big. Its so so big. Look at a map of the dsmp. Its just a black void bigger than l'manburg was. You look at it and you just know it's something terrible. the obsidian walls, lava, the iron. It's just there. In the middle of the ocean. It does not fit in and its scary. the AMOUNT of redstone and functions it go is AMAZING. the only way to enter is through a portal that then leads u to the nether and has to be manually activated again by the warden. So to enter you literally NEED the wardens permission. All the bridges and all the door. It's so fucking cool man what can I say. The amount of security. the lore that happened inside pandora as well. Pandoras arc was the best arc of the whole of dream smp and I stand by that. There is so so much to unpack. Sam and Dream could have just built some shitty obsidian box and called it a prison, but no they made PANDORAS VAULT

The Ghost's Vault:

Contained : VikingPilot's Prized possesions

Series : Dominion SMP

Propaganda : Perhaps the only self-titled Vault to actually be one, the Ghost's Vault, built by VikingPilot, is two things -- a consolidation of wealth, and a display of power. Built at a time on Dominion where every single diamond had to be handed over to the Queen every two weeks, the Vault is made in total opposition to that policy as an extremely intimidating secret stash. All 10 sets of Netherite armor are enchanted and labeled. It's built with soulfire lanterns under the center carpet runner for the sole purpose of unnerving the local piglin. He's taken people here twice onscreen, and both times it was to cash in a no-conditions-set IOU with that other person in order to make sure things work out exactly the way they need to. It also contains two very important books! Viking's "To Do" list is very simple -- Run Dominion. However, the other one -- the Book -- is quite possibly the single most dangerous thing in Viking's possession. He's not sure what's in it, other than that it contains rituals of unimaginable power and that if he opens it again, he will crack in half. Oh, and the Ghost's Vault is also the location for the world's most unhinged 12-minute 100% improv monologue to ever exist.

[male-us-prison-experience]

WELCOME IN MY PRISON - THE ONLY ONE THAT OFFERS ALL PLEASURES OF ALL AMERICAN PENITENTIARIES TOGETHER

After that fatal car crash, causing serious traffic victims, it always starts with arrest and being handcuffed at your back. Then you're driven to the police station. There follows the intake, the body search, the mugshot, the inevitable alcohol test and finally the finger prints.

As the test is positive your brandnew prison uniform, a simple nice black and white striped jumpsuit, to be closed with just six shiny snap buttons at the front, is already waiting for you, one of the kind you will have to wear from now on for many years to come - as is the barred bare cell with just a bed of cold steel, a stool made of the same stuff and a toilet, to spend your first night locked up and think all over....

Your beautiful new villain suit will only be taken off from now on when you have to shower, together with other prisoners. You better prepare yourself for that too: in prison we don't do privacy. The first time you will hesitate to undress in the presence of others just as much as that shy new inmate on the right, but that will soon be over, i promise you.

You soon will learn to wear your striking prison stripes always and everywhere. No separate trousers and shirt for you anymore, just a jumpsuit. And you soon will learn that you have to dress yourself properly once you're out of your bed , so to button up that jumpsuit always and everywhere completely, all six snaps up to the last one just under your chin. If not, the police officers will learn you to do so.

You also soon will get used to the fact that this is just how you will look henceforth, that your visiting family will see you dressed like this. No, there will not be any exceptions to that rule in the future. You soon will discover that your prison uniform has only one small pocket, on your left chest, and none further down as your pants once had. As you will never need cash money in the future again, this is sufficient for a pair of glasses, or perhaps a handkerchief. After all, the fewer pockets your jumpsuit possesses, the smaller the risk of any contraband.

Yes, from this moment on wearing solid steel handcuffs will become nearly inevitable as soon as you are somewhere outside your own cell. Safety comes first - at the police station they have their experience with new prisoners who suddenly go crazy and thus become violent.

A few days later you're already on your way to court for trial, in your new prison stripes clearly contrasting to the accompanying officers in their grey uniforms. Of course you're already since you left your cell in full restraints, shuffling along with difficulty in your uneasy leg irons, while your wrists in handcuffs are fixed to the frontal D-ring of a thick leather belt around your waist, with which the jailers lead you with firm a grip like some wild dog on the leash to the dock to get sentenced....

After your perp-walk in front of the eager local press and the curious public you enter the courtroom, where your lawyer pleads in vain for a conditional sentence on the grounds of mitigating circumstances. But the facts are clear and the sentence of the judge therefore is too.

You will have to spend many years in prison - which one, you don't hear yet. The next days, or perhaps weeks, you will stay in your cell at the local jail again. When you move back from the courtroom to the exit of the court-house, the sound of the rattling of your leg-irons, each time when the connecting chain hits the stone floor tiles of the corridor, sounds more ominous than ever. You will get used to them...

And now, first back to the county jail. Now you've been sentenced, you're aware that you indeed will have to wear this black and white striped prison jumpsuit the next years. And yes, because of that, on your way out of the courthouse those damned handcuffs also stay on.

Outside the prison van is already waiting for you. No, there is no chance to escape your fate. Too much police officers around, apart from your shackles - and your prison stripes, that will betray you. There is only one choice for you: to obey to the law and step inside.

And yes, this time, on your way back, you're not the only one in the prison van. As small as it is, there is space enough for two - or more...

Back in your cell at the county jail you've just to wait, till on some very early morning in the next days or weeks you're suddenly awakened and taken out for transport. The handcuffs and leg-irons you have to wear during the next hours already are waiting outside your cell. This time even a black box is added to your handcuffs, fixing them in an immovable way to the belly-chain padlocked at your back.

Outside, the special prison bus is already waiting for you. Inside that van, behind the driver's cabin, there is a lockable compartment for you and your fellow inmates, with bars on the windows. For the rest there are only very basic chairs on a steel floor. Now, you have a very long ride ahead of you, during which you will stay fully restrained the entire time. At no point will your shackles come off, that's strictly forbidden, not even allowed when you are given food and drink on the way, or have to piss, or when a short stop is made to pick up a couple of recently convicted inmates, already shackled, at the next county jail.

If you are unlucky, if you are considered a flight risk, you will not only have to wear the hand and foot cuffs that have already been put on you in advance, but you might also be chained to your place for the entire ride, presumably with your legs to a ring in the floor. As you can see, the necessary extra cuffing-equipment for this is already present in the bus in enough amounts to do so just behind the driver's seat.

It's a long drive of many hours from the small jail in your own county town to the huge isolated prison complex in the middle of nowhere. Then suddenly your new home for the next years comes into sight. The wires, the walls, the watch towers, al those frightening forbidding structures you can watch now for a couple of minutes through the windows of the prison van from the outside before it enters, make you immediately realize: once inside, there will be no way out.

And when the prison gate opens and the van finally drives into the court yard, you already catch a glimpse of the other inhabitants, all wearing exactly the same black and white striped prison uniform as you. You're not the only one here, that's for sure.... A new, harsh, unknown life with a lot of strict rules now lays ahead!

And when you are taken to your cell block for the first time, and you encounter a whole column of fellow prisoners while crossing the courtyard in your full restraints, you realize something else: outside of that cell block, your hands and feet will always be shackled for safety's sake, that fucking tight leather belt around your waist with those bloody handcuffs attached to it, will from now on become your standard equipment as soon as you leave it, heavy leg-irons included.

EXPERIENCE THE UNIQUE AMERICAN WAY OF PRISON LIFE!

I have started this new blog about one of my greatest phantasies: to experience a real American prison from the inside. After being transported to a huge state penitentiary of the maximum security category, surrounded by barbed wire, walls and moats, and the obligatory humiliating stripsearch immediately at arrival, a hidden severe world is welcoming all new inmates for many years to come, offering a lot of rest, partly to be spend in solitary confinement:

Barred cells, serious shackles, rattling chains, prison stripes and finally the famous chain gang - always secured in full restraints: that's the way i like it!

Well, and there is your cell, completely for your own, your home for the next years. Which one will be yours? Is your new neighbor already winking you? Will it be No.2, 4, 5, 6? They are all identical - in a good prison all inmates are treated equal, as they are all dressed the same, their individuality reduced to their identification number stamped on their plastic wristband and maybe printed on their new uniform too.

And then one of those cell-doors is opened for you, and you have to go inside. After your handcuffs and leg-irons are taken off, the guards leave your cell, the barred door is banged shut and you're left alone.

You're locked up now, and the only part of your captive body that you can now move past those damned iron bars of your cell by yourself are your hands. The rest remains inside and has to wait till the door will be unlocked again - next morning or next week or next month, or whenever, that's no longer up to you...

[pricetagged]

fool's gold (pyrite)

Got inspired by gougie's executioner asks and cloth's egging hehe 💖 have some pirate au simon breeding kink~

Content: 18+; breeding kink; dubious consent*; mean Simon; pirates; captured-by-the-crown reader; barest implication of potential soap/reader and future ghoap/reader; POV shift

*in a 'get out of jail' way, so take that how you will.

---------------------------------

It fluttered in your stomach. A nebulous, squirming little thing.

Not the baby, no. The lie.

You felt it, restless and hot. Kicking your ribs from the inside. It made you flushed, it made you sick-

It bought you at least another few weeks to slip the noose, to slide away in borrowed shoes meant to dance a gallows' jig. Maybe it would buy you more, if the stress held back your monthly the way it often did on the ship. Great, long stretches of time with too much work and not enough food.

You wore the lie like you wore your borrowed clothes, a too-tight bodice and heavy skirts. Impractical, sweet. Modest. A poor little dear caught up and brought low. Fallen woman, sunken to the depths before the law fished her out. 

Your thighs stuck together, warm and bare under the skirts. It was sweltering, damp. Clammy in the cell with its stagnant air and earthy, unfinished floors. The wood of your bench –and bedcot–was warped with age, woodlouse burrowed deep into the pulpy grooves. It was enough to make you shudder, sweat dripping down your spine until it soaked into the cotton of your shift.

It did little to cool you.

Nine months aboard The Watcher had spoiled you, coarse rope and sharp, sea air warping you into something new. Something wilder. It was hardtack and hard work, yes. But it was freedom. To toil under a flag of your choosing, to trust the waves and the Captain to take you to new ports and newer treasures–

You'd left your papa's place with little more than ill-fitting breeches and a pocketed purse. You'd passed the scars on your hands and the patches on your shirt as evidence of experience – hardy little stowaway, aren't ye–. The morals didn't bother you the way stolen scraps didn't bother a dog. Street rat or ship rat; at least this way you could put miles between you and your father. Nautical miles, bobbing away with the wood of the ship's log. You watched it often, knots of rope and grains of sand. Hourglass and paper in hand while you stood on the stern.

It was you who first spotted the English Man O'War, sluicing through waves with colours hoisted high. Three gun-decks, at least, and coming into port.

"–plead the belly–it'll spare ye the choppin' block. Might even get lucky and be sent t' the reformatory– ah heard they do that f'r expectant mothers–" you couldn't quite hear him over the ringing of the cannons and the ringing in your ears.  "–plead the belly, and I'll try tae come back for y–"

They echoed now in your sweltering cell, suspended in the humidity. The boatswain's last words before he was violently wrestled away.

You remembered him as you counted the bars of your cage. Iron-wrought and cruel. As cruel as the chain tethering you to the wall, cold metal biting into your bare ankle.

'–I've got the keys, girlie, if you want freein' from it. Don' have to sit against that wall, all shy. C'mere an' I'll make you a deal–'

You stayed silent, stone-faced. Weathered the taunts and jeers of your gaolers like a battered old rock. The guards took it as arrogance, the other prisoners took it as invite.

The priest took it as shame.

You let them all believe it, lips pressed tight lest you let loose sobs–giggles–something– as days passed and your sentencing drew closer.

You'd heard about him before you saw him. The Ghost. The last face you'd see before facing the faceless. The pitch-black eyes that would watch as you jigged to the jeers of the crowd.

It was the last face you'd see and it was only a mask. More macabre than the usual executioner's hood– a skull motif, bleach-white bones and empty sockets. A nasty minikin mockery of the reaper. It was gristly; it was sick.

But so was he.

A butcher, some said. Fingers caked in blood no matter to which job he attended. A pirate, according to others. One pressed into service, earning his freedom by sending others to the pits. 

And now you heard him for real.

The low, resonant whistle. The heavy tread of his boots.

It had you curling your fingers into your palms, nautical superstitions and fishwives' tales nipping at you like fleas.

–quit yer whistlin', you'll anger the winds and summon a storm–

                                                 –it's good luck, don't worry. It'll make the winds blow strong and steady, you'll see–

–I wouldn't do that if I were you. Cap'n'll think it's code between mutineers–

                                                                                                                                    –taboo–

The whistling stopped, a cheery solitary note wavering in the air before silence. Even the gaoler's dog had scarpered off, keys jingling around its neck until you couldn't even hear the echo.

A gravel-rough voice cut through the swirling tempest of your mind.

"Was told 'got a pregnant little birdie caught in the cage."

That pulled you from your reverie, neck-stiff as you turned towards the voice. It was more of a twitch than a conscious motion, a sudden flaring of deadened synapses as his voice rasped over them. Still, you didn't speak. Didn't even look at him fully, the hulking thing in your peripheral.

It was silent, now. Eerily so, like all the air had been sucked from the prison. Sitting in the eye of the storm, too calm and too quiet. You could hear the drag of his boots as he shifted closer. The rolling clank of iron scraping against itself, your cage creaking open.

The shadow in your peripheral became mass, then man as he stepped closer.

You risked a glance up.

He'd still be large, sturdy, even without you curled up on your dank, spongy bedcot. Tall enough to duck as he sauntered into the cell. Broad enough to block out the flickering oil lamps by the warden's desk. In the lambent glow of dusk it was already dim, hazy with sea-spray and the oppressive heat of wet season. But with him in front of you it was pitch-dark. A pall cast by his sheer size, all light swallowed up until you could just about make out his blurry edges.

The ghostly white of the bones bleached onto his mask moved and his voice rumbled out.

"Well, g'nna show me?"

You stretched out weakened muscles, unfurling as slow as a wind-battered sail. Joints creaked alongside the iron of your shackle, tight from where you'd clenched hard. Dug your blunt little fingernails into the pulpy, malleable fibers of the aged ironwood below you.

Standing was like finding yourself unmoored, sliding off the buoyant driftwood keeping you afloat. Your legs got tangled up in your borrowed clothes, damp petticoats and overskirts clinging as your feet finally touched the straw-strewn earth of the cell floor. It was cumbersome, made more difficult by the sliding of the heavy chain against the bench. You felt the weight around your ankle, anchoring you down.

Though you could barely see it, you felt as he studied you from top-to-toe. Flat, dead eyes followed every curve and dip of your body as you stood before him, your traitorous chest rising and falling in a way that made you grit your teeth. You used that force to steel your jaw, to look straight ahead and keep your arms lax and loose by your side.

Let him look his fill. Let him– your judge, jury and executioner.

He hummed. Circled you like a shark in a balmy waters. It was funny– you'd never felt more exposed than now in all your layers. Not even under the punishing sun in your loose, men's clothes. No, his eyes stripped you bare. More than cotton and linens, he peeled the flesh from bone. Flayed you open, eyes slicing through your skittish guise. Through your rabbity gaze hopping around the walls, the way you tried to arch your back and poke out more of your soft belly.

"You a liar, then?" You could hear the low, mocking note in his voice. "Or got a case of wishful thinkin'?"

That had you looking up, meeting him dead in the eye. Your hands hovered above the slight swell of your stomach, fingers twitching in an abortive gesture–

–you wanted to cradle it, the fluttering in your empty belly. Push down the sick, swirling terror and face the ghost you'd summoned, because you had summoned it–

He grabbed by your wrist, meaty paw pulling you close enough to brush against his expansive chest.

–Hadn't you? Bad luck. Malefic omen, having you on the ship. No prophets, no redheads–

There, in the cradle of his arms, you were frozen. Your wrist felt fragile, bird-like under the firm grip of his thick-knuckled fingers. You weren't weak, you'd rigged topsails in tempest winds with those wrists. But that was then. That was weeks ago, when you were part of a crew on the open seas. Here, it was just you and the beast that had sent stronger than you to their graves. The warnings from persnickety old seadogs tolled death knolls in your mind–

–no women. And now the sea had swallowed you up. Sent you down to the belly of the beast. A Jonah, locked behind something stronger than whalebone. Trapped. Unless–

Wishful thinking.

He chucked at your chin, calloused fingertips arching your head further back until your neck strained. Your heartbeat rushed past your ears, sending your head spinning. Dizzy, docile. An artificial calm; buoyant lifeline in the raging currents. He turned you slightly, left then right. Like he was measuring you up, the line of your throat. The fluttering of your pulse. That treacherous throbbing, sending oxygen to your brain that you were too erethic to feel.

He spoke again, rough and coruscating. You noticed that he didn't blink, just stared down at you. Dead-eyed as a fish, blond lashes spiked around dark irises. He kept you arched, unable to escape as every syllable struck you like a storm. You balanced on bare tip-toes, butterfly-soft fingers spread across his hairy forearm.

"The Beak's happy to let ya swing if it means 'e can catch the rest of y'r crewmates. And, 'round here, the only good pirate is a dead pirate," he must have felt how your fingers tightened, a futile brace against his butal strength and harsh words. "So, I tell him y'r a liar, get paid to do my job, and keep the governor happy."

He shrugged, bulky shoulders popping as he rolled them back. He shrugged like it meant nothing to him, just a matter of fact. The fisherman, fingers deep in guts and gristle. The butcher, hands stained copper and hardened on cannon bone. The executioner, calloused from rope neckties and the deadweight of the condemned–

But you catch the way his eyes follow your flinch. The way his lips move under his mask too as your mouth opens and closes. Hesitant. Dry.

You could only look up at him with wide, naïve eyes, dilating in the dark. The jejune jailbird. Doe-eyed. Caught.

The jig was up.

"Please," the words stuck in your throat, cracking and broken. "Please don't–"

He lets you go. Not a gentle action, no. No careful caress; he lowers you abruptly, chuckles as you scramble to face him. Stunned, you rub at your throat. Still there, still unadorned with the necklace of rope you swear he wants to place there. Coarse twine and hessian brown, constricting tighter until– no. You can't think on it, anathema to the lie you've worked hard to maintain. If he doesn't believe the plea of the belly, you'll– you'll–

You'll make it so.

As he settles his massive frame on the thin, wooden slat against the wall you wonder. Why did he come here in cover of night. Why did he need to see for himself what the priest confirmed as a priori truth? The seal of confession melts away, your moribund admittance flakes and crumbles under his heavy hand. He knows.

Solid legs spread wide, he makes himself comfortable. You follow the bulge of his thighs, easily as thick as your skull–more–, as the bench groans and creaks worse than the brig in a storm.

You worry that it can't handle the weight.

Even sitting, he dwarfs you. Stepping up between his thighs is like willingly stepping off the stern into still waters. It's terrifying, thrilling– your belly swoops and head feels light. You know there must be something lurking in the depths, some undulating hydra ready to slide its malignant limbs around your ankle and wrench you down–

He clamps a filthy boot down over the length of chain across the floor. Keeps you tethered to him, unable to pull back even if you wanted to.

"Clever enough t'come up with the scheme, clever enough t'get out of it." It's an offering, albeit a twisted one. Alms tainted by the greedy slap of his palms against his thighs. Rough, scarred hands frame the growing bulge between his legs.

Even in the dark, you see it. Heavy, perverse, Fattening enough to strain against the seam of his trousers. You can't look away, can't escape the muggy heat in the air and the scorching burn of his eyes on you. Incendiary, it sends heat pooling to your own belly. The damp, stickiness between your thighs seems cool now, sweat superseded by the slick gathering in your core. It's filthy, it's wrong–

It's blazing hot, shame seared away by a want that is not entirely born of desperation.

At first you think it's a tit-for-tat, your mouth stuffed full in exchange for his staying closed. Kneeling before him, you're suddenly grateful for your skirts. Matchsticks of dried straw and dusty smithereens dig into your knees, legs bent awkwardly as he keeps his boot on your chain. He's content to let you paw at him, to tug at the drawstrings and fumble with his waistband as he offers no help.

Eventually, he must grow bored.

"Don' need me to tell ya that's not how it works."

"What–?" He has you frozen, tableau vivant of a wanton grisette. Pupils-blown and lips-parted, you tremble up at him. Try to read the desire that he hides beneath harsh words and heavy breaths.

"Tryin' t'make me a liar, too?" He grunts, brushing aside your confused, hurried protestations. "Gonna make me a liar when I go out'nd tell them there really is a pregnant little birdie caught in the cage?"

He pats at his lap, palming at himself and hissing through his teeth. Sound is muffled by that grotesque mask, but you catch it all the same. Every flash of the man beneath– of the desire wrought by your artless, ingenue fumblings– sends you reeling. You are not a creature of flesh and blood, not when both are fever-hot and itching. You can't breathe in your body under sweltering layers and sultry air. And he can sense it, too. The beast you let into your cage, bars bending as easily as your will to his.

And, through messily-tugged drawstrings, you see it. Tugged through the opening you'd hastily torn open. The thick, ruddy head of his cock is already leaking.

And as you slide into his lap, it all slides into place.

You think of– no, not now. You can't think of him now. When he comes back for you, if it takes, you could pass the baby off as his. He was sweet on you, you know it. A breezy, comfortable kind of affection. Small, just barely burgeoning but still there. He's a good man– You'll claim that you were telling the truth at your capture– that you and he already– He's a decent man– maybe you wouldn't even have to lie. He'd take you in, little stray and the seed that kept her off the scaffold–

Thoughts slip away, sea spray in the wind, as you work yourself open in his lap. You're drenched beneath your skirts, slick running down your thighs and into his. You're spread so wide across him that it burns, pinned open by his bulk. You can feel the power of his frame, coiled muscle holding you up from the worn wooden bench. The soft pudge of his belly presses into yours as you lean forward, shakily lining up with the swollen head of his cock.

It's already weeping, thick globs of his slick mingle with yours as he slides between your folds. Like he can't wait to be inside you, leaking his spend at the barest touch of your cunt. Like he can't wait to put it inside you, to make good on his word and yours and put a baby there.

You shiver, biting back a gasp as he nudges the aching pearl at the apex of your thighs. His chuckle rumbles through his hulking chest into yours. It jostles you, hitching you just right over his length until it notches against you. You press down, hole clenching against the initial pain, until you feel the throb of his slit inside. It's deep, sending your back arching as you grip his shoulders with white knuckles. And there's still more–

"Tha's it, tha's it, birdie," his voice is impossibly thicker, desire dragging it down until he growls at you. "Gonna have t'take more, gotta make it all fit if you want this baby–"

"Yes, yes, please," you babble at him. Voice high, whines catching on every breath you work yourself lower. You can feel him in your stomach, every inch sending sparks dancing along your spine until they're all you can see when you close your eyes. The sparks, and the spectral imprint of his ghostly mask.

He grunts below you, swallowing back groans behind a jaw that you know is clenched tight. Avaricious brute, he needs you closer. Hands that were meant to measure you for the drop dig into your hips, working you lower and lower. He forces you down to the root, bare thighs on hessian cloth, until you cry out. Shaking at the spread– the stretch– you pant in his ear. Hot little breaths, heady against the crook of his neck.

You can hear it, the obscene squelch of your greedy cunt. The creaking of the bench beneath you as you ride him with shaking legs, chasing pleasure that's already beginning to pool in your belly. You feel heavy with it, moaning behind your clenched fist. Through bleary eyes you catch his, cimmerian and heavy-lidded. His head is thrown back against the wall, guttural filth spilling as he waits for you to come undone.

"Want it, don't ya? Want my baby so fuckin' bad, just look at ya," he growls it, frothing with a hunger so biting it reads as rage. "I'll put one in ya, keep you stuffed full. Keep this chain around y'r ankle, too, keep you shackled to me–"

Eyes-watering as you lose yourself in it. In the sounds that that send blood rushing to your head, the deep ache in your core, the desperation– make him come, make him come, want to come, need to come–

---------

At first, he was happy to watch you. To sit back and watch you work yourself up, to perform for him until he sees you drop the mask. You wear the mantle of captive soubrette so well, sweat-damp petticoats clinging to curves that he wants to trace with his tongue. With his teeth. He saw the craft in your sweet, open face. You're a flighty thing, aren't you? Trying to slip the noose and slip past him. Luckily his grasp is strong.

He saw the scheme slip away as he got you speared open on his length. He can see it in your eyes, feels the way you suck him in–. You're dripping down into his breeches, sloppy and squeezing him so tight. Desperate, wanton little naiad. Riding hard like your life depends on it. He huffs out a laugh as he squeezes you tight, rough fingers digging into peach-soft flesh.

He doesn't tell you that you're already free, that the Royal Navy is already in hot pursuit of The Watcher and the pregnant, little skivvy is of as much importance to them as the ship's rats. No, you're a nuisance they're willing to hand off to him. Too big, too blunt, too bloody to find a respectable wife.

(There was a time, once, when he had no need of such comforts. Lieutenant aboard The Larimar's Revenge, he'd docked in many-a-port. But he'd always come back to those blue eyes. The haircut that had even the natives of Port Royal looking twice– Cheeky, cocksure pirate.

He'd thought about him, sometimes. On that godforsaken island with just a pistol and one shot for company. 'Mutineer', he was branded. Traitor to King and Crown. Lower than scum, not worth even a keelhaul. But not even grapeshot can kill a ghost–) 

He feels you reaching your end, thighs trembling from more than just exertion. His mask is damp, sultry air mixing with your musk into something that scatters his desultory thoughts. His belly tightens as he feels you clamping down, whining behind the knuckles you’ve got stuffed between your teeth.

When you're home, together in his bed, he'll bite down on those knuckles. Show you what real toothprints look like. Or maybe he'll let you slip his hand into your mouth instead. Let you whet your blunt little teeth on something with more gristle. His appetite for you cannot be satiated on mere flesh. He's got to pierce you, taste you, feel you from the inside and leave a part of himself there–

For now, he holds you down. Forces you to ride out the wave of pleasure-pain as he sets his own pace. Your thighs tremble, whole body seizing around him. He can feel the fluttering in your cunt, the way you shudder and drip until his cock is soaked and his coarse hair turns sticky with your release.

He ignores your whisper of another man's name– John, or Johnny, it's hard to catch with the way you swallow your whimper–it doesn’t matter. Not when he's the one pumping you full of his spend. His belly clenches hard, balls tight and heavy with the come he's going to give you. Going to force it in, plant his baby in you and still leave thick, white, globs leaking out of your poor, abused hole.

He's filled you up, is going to fill you up again. He'll take you back to his house and do it as many times as he wants. Make you grateful for it, for saving your life and giving you the baby you’ve been begging for. Keep you stuffed so full of him that the only name he'll hear from you is 'Simon'.

(And if you help lure Johnny back, well. It's been a long time, but good dogs come home when called.)

---------------

Well, there is it. Shoutout to my beloved stelle and woolie for listening to me whine about pirate ship names 💖💖💖

[slyandthefamilybook]

A NON-EXHAUSTIVE BUT NEVERTHELESS EXHAUSTING LIST OF NEO-NAZI AND WHITE SUPREMACIST DOGWHISTLES

since some of y'all apparently need a refresher course. as always, use your judement when deciding if it's a dogwhistle or just innocent usage of a number or symbol

NUMBERS

100% - 100 percent white

109 or 110 - A reference to the 109 countries that have expelled, in whole or in part, their Jewish populations. 110 refers to the hope that more countries will do so, usually specifically the United States. Often posted on its own as a reply, or phrased as a question (e.g. "If you were kicked out of 109 bars it's probably our fault")

1290 - A reference to the Edict of Expulsion of 1290, which expelled the Jewish population of England

13/50 or 13/52 or 13/90 - The supposed statistic that Black Americans make up 13% of the population yet commit 50% or 52% of violent crime, or 90% of interracial violence. Often posted on its own as a reply

14 - The Fourteen Words, a Neo-Nazi slogan

14/23 - A number representing the Southern Brotherhood, an Alabama prison gang

1488 - A combination of the Fourteen Words and Heil Hitler

C18 - Combat 18, a British neo-Nazi group

18 - The letters A (1) and H (8), standing for Adolf Hitler

21-2-12 - The Letters U (21), B (2), and 12 (L), standing for Union, Brotherhood, and Loyalty, the slogan of the Unforgiven, a Florida prison gang

23 - Often thrown up as a hand sign, with two fingers raised on one hand and three fingers raised on the other. Represents the letter W (23), standing for white

271,000 - A reference to the supposed fact that the Red Cross claimed only 271,000 people had been murdered in concentration camps. In reality, that number reported by the Red Cross only came from reports from 13 concentration camps (there were 23 main camps, plus a large number of smaller "satellite" camps)

88 - H (8) H (8), standing for Heil Hitler

9% - A number representing the percentage of the world's population that is white

SYMBOLS

((( ))) - Triple parentheses, or echo. Used by neo-Nazis to call out someone as Jewish

Iron Cross - A German military decoration

Sonnenrad (Sun Wheel)

Reichsadler (Imperial Eagle) - A blocky, art-deco eagle facing to the side. Variants exist, some facing right, some facing left. The Parteiadler (Party Eagle) has a slightly different design. The Reichsadler is usually clutching a wreath with a swastika, although this is sometimes left out to maintain plausible deniability

Totenkopf (Death's Head) - A symbol used by the SS

Wolfsangel (Wolf's Hook) - Used as the insignia of various Wermacht (Nazi Military) divisions

Wolfsangel (horizontal)

Odal Rune - From the Proto-Germanic "Othala" meaning heritage

Algiz Rune - A symbol used by German nationalists

Celtic Cross

"Broken Sun" Cross

Arrow Cross - A Hungarian nationalist party that was active from 1935-1945. The symbol has been re-appropriated by modern neo-Nazis

Valknot

EMOJI

🤑 Greedy Face Emoji - Used to refer to "greedy Jews"

💰 Money Bag Emoji - Used to refer to "greedy Jews"

🥸 Disguised Emoji - Used to refer to Jews because of the enlarged nose

🤥 Lying Emoji - Used to refer to Jews because of the enlarged nose

👃 Nose Emoji - Used to refer to Jews

🙋‍♂️ Raising Hand Emoji - Used for its resemblance to the Sieg Heil salute

✋ Raised Hand Emoji - Used for its resemblance to the Sieg Heil salute

o/ or 0/ - Used for its resemblance to the Sieg Heil salute

🐸 Frog Emoji - A reference to Pepe the Frog, a webcomic charcter co-opted by the alt-right

👌 Okay Symbol Emoji - A hand symbol co-opted by the alt-right. Sometimes said to resemble the letters WP, or White Power

🚪 Door Emoji - Refers to the fact that some of the gas chambers (such as the ones at Auschwitz) had wooden doors, and therefore could not have been airtight enough to contain the Zyklon B gas used to murder prisoners. In reality, many of the wooden doors were either replaced with airtight metal ones, or were made airtight with strips of felt that then deteriorated or were removed

🚿 Showerhead Emoji - Refers to the showerheads used to dispense Zyklon B gas in the gas chambers

⛽ Gas Pump Emoji - Refers to gas chambers

⚡⚡ Double Lightning Emojis - Used for their resemblance to the Siegrune (victory rune) badge worn by members of the SS (Schutzstaffel)

💀 Skull Emoji - Used for its resemblance to the Totenkopf (Death's Head) used by the SS

☠️ Skull and Crossbones Emoji - Used for its resemblance to the Totenkopf (Death's Head) used by the SS

WORDS/PHRASES

6MWE - Six Million Wasn't Enough. A call for further genocide against Jews

AKIA - A Klansman I Am

Annudah Shoah - A mockery of both the Shoah (Holocaust) and the fear of further genocide

Auschwitz had a swimming pool/rec center/maternity ward/etc. - An attempt to diminish the horror of concentration camps by making them seem more like labor camps with amenities

Blood and Honor - A neo-Nazi slogan

Blood and Soil - A neo-Nazi slogan

Blood Libel - Not a phrase used by the far right, but something they often believe in or claim. Blood libel is an antisemitic conspiracy theory stretching back hundreds of years. The original claim was that Jews used the blood of Christian babies to bake matzah (a ritual food eaten on Passover). It has since evolved into images of Jews drinking blood, kidnapping and killing non-Jewish babies, and conspiracy theories about harvesting adrenochrome

Bowlcut - A reference to white supremacist mass-murderer Dylan Roof

Cohencidence - A portmanteau of Cohen (a common Jewish last name) and coincidence. Used to refer to Jewish control (e.g. "All these companies are owned by Jews! What a Cohencidence!")

COORS - "Comerades of Our Racial Struggle"

Cultural Marxism - A conspiracy theory that Jews are intentionally weakening "Western values" in order to make countries like the United States more susceptible to communism. This was called Cultural Bolshevism in Nazi Germany

Da Shoah or Muh Shoah or Muh Holocaust - A mockery of the Holocaust

Day of the Rope - A day referenced in neo-Nazi book The Turner Diaries when all race traitors will be hanged

Degenerate - An insult based on the false theory that bad morals will cause human beings to regress along the path of evolution (to de-evolve). Used to describe groups, individuals, or ideologies

Early Life - A reference to the "Early Life" section of Wikipedia biographies, which will reveal that a person is Jewish or has Jewish ancestry

Every Single Time - Every time something bad happens, the perpetrator is Jewish

Featherwood - A term derived from racist prison subculture. A featherwood is a woman associated with a racist gang

FGRN - For God, Race, and Nation. A Ku Klux Klan slogan

The Fourteen Words - A neo-Nazi slogan. "We must secure the existance of our people and a future for white children"

The Frankfurt School - A school of sociology founded at Goethe University Frankfurt in 1923. Usually blamed as the originator of "Cultural Marxism"

Fren - Internet slang. A diminutive of "friend", used to diminish Naziism and make it seems more harmless. Often used in usernames to describe one's self (e.g. sad_fren_88)

Globalist - A person who desires connection between countries in terms of politics, trade, and travel. Used to scaremonger about Jews destroying countries by removing their borders

Gorillion - A mockery of the number 6 million, being the amount of Jews who were murdered in the Holocaust

Goy - Hebrew for "nation", used by Jews to refer to non-Jews/gentiles. Used disparagingly by neo-Nazis to suggest Jews view non-Jews as beneath them

Goyslop - Unhealthy food that Jews force non-Jews to eat to keep them weak

Groid - A shortening of "Negroid", an archaic terms used to describe Black people

Groyper - A follower of avowed neo-Nazi Nick Fuentes. A reference to the "Groyper" meme, a variant of Pepe the Frog

GSHW - Germany Should Have Won (i.e. won World War II)

GTKRWN - Gas the Kikes; Race War Now

HDKH - Hitler Didn't Kill Himself. A neo-Nazi theory that Hitler escaped Germany and fled to Argentina

John 8:44 - "You are of your father the devil, and your will is to do your father's desires. He was a murderer from the beginning, and does not stand in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks out of his own character, for he is a liar and the father of lies." Part of Jesus' rebuke of his Jewish followers

Joo or Jooz - An intentional misspelling of "Jews" in an attempt to bypass censors or automatic content filters

Kate Hikes - A spoonerism of "hate kikes"

Kek - 4chan variation of "lol"

Kekistan - A fictional country imagined by white nationalists with a flag that resembles the Nazi battle flag

Khazar - A reference to the conversion of a group of Khazars (a Turkic people) to Judaism. Antisemites speculate that the entirity of Ashkenazi Jews are descended from these Khazar converts, and therefore have no historical, cultural, or genetic tie to the Levant. This has been proven false on multiple occasions

Kike - A racial slur against Jews

Lizard People or Reptilians - A conspiracy theory by far-right figure David Icke, claiming that world leaders are really reptilian aliens. Most people who believe this theory believe that the lizard people in question are the Jews

Magic Soil - A protest against the idea that people of one nationality can become people of another nationality simply by living in a country (i.e. "France doesn't have magic soil that turns Africans into Frenchmen")

Nicker - An intentional misspelling of the N word in an attempt to bypass censors or automatic content filters

Ns - Black people (as in the plural of the letter N)

NSDAP - Nationalsozialistiche Deutsche Arbeiterpartei. The Nazi party, but using an acronym that is unfamiliar to most people

NS - National Socialist

Noticer - Someone who "notices" that Jews control the world

The Noticing - A mass movement of people "noticing" that Jews control the world

New World Order - A far-right conspiracy theory about Jews taking control over the world and implementing a single world government. Also used in conjunction with phrases like "world banks"

OFOF - One Front, One Family. Slogan of the neo-Nazi group Volksfront

ORION - Our Race Is Our Nation

Oy Vey - A Yiddish exclamation meaning "oh woe". Used by neo-Nazis to mock Jews

Pattern Recognizer - Someone who has recognized the "pattern" of Jews always being in control

Peckerwood - A term derived from racist prison subculture. A peckerwood is a man associated with a racist gang

Power Level - A memeification of far-right beliefs. The more fascist your beliefs, the higher your "power level"

The Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion - A 20th century Russian hoax claiming to be the minutes of meetings between Jewish leaders discussing how they will take control of the world

Pure Blood - Someone who is a pure member of the white race

Rabbi Smolett - A claim that Jews fabricate antisemitic hate crimes (a reference to actor Jussie Smolett who was accused of doing the same)

ROA - Race Over All

The Goyim Know - A phrase used by white supremacists acting like Jews who have discovered white supremacist activity, and are afraid that they've been found out. Often "The Goyim Know, Shut It Down", which adds the idea that Jews will prohibit any conversation that gets too close to the truth

The Red Cross - A reference to the supposed fact that the Red Cross claimed only 271,000 people had been murdered in concentration camps. In reality, that number reported by the Red Cross only came from reports from 13 concentration camps (there were 23 main camps, plus a large number of smaller "satellite" camps)

Tiny Hats or Tiny Hatted People - A reference to the Kippah or Yarmulke often worn by Jewish men

Reject Modernity, Embrace Tradition - A fascist slogan warning against social progress and calling for a return to a prelapsarian (usually ethnocentric) paradise

Rubbing Hands - A reference to an antisemitic charicature called "The Happy Merchant"

"To learn who rules over you, simply find out who you're not allowed to criticize" - A quote often misattributed to Voltaire, which neo-Nazis use to decry claims of antisemitism as efforts to silence them. In fact, it's a quote from a neo-Nazi pedophile

Shabbos Goy - A non-Jewish neighbor of a Jew who can be asked to perform acts Jews are forbidden from doing on the Sabbath (e.g. turning of a light or turning on the heat). Used by neo-Nazis to claim someone is a slave to Jews

Sheeeiiit - An over-the-top representation of how "shit" is said with a Blaccent. Often used in memes declaring Black people to be less intelligent

Shekels - Jewish currency (from the Hebrew word for weight, similar to how British currency is called the pound. In reality, the plural of shekel is shkalim). The name has been adopted by the State of Israel for the NIS (New Israeli Shekel). "Shekels" is used by neo-Nazis to mock Jews as being greedy

Synagogue of Satan - An antisemitic term for Jews, stemming from the Chrsitian Bible

They or Them - When used to describe a nebulous group of undefined adversaries, these words almost always refer to Jews

They Cry Out in Pain As They Strike You - An antisemitic proverb claiming that Jews will make false cries of antisemitism while at the same time perpetrating atrocities

Troon - A slur against trans people, particularly trans women

Volk - German for "folk", or "kind". Used by neo-Nazis to refer to white people

We Wuz Kangz - A racist phrase ment to mock Black nationalists

White Genocide - The myth that a group of people (usually Jews) are conspiring to eliminate the white race through various means including immigration, intermarriage, and homosexuality

WP - White Power

WN - White Nationalist or White Nationalism

Wooden Doors - Refers to the fact that some of the gas chambers (such as the ones at Auschwitz) had wooden doors, and therefore could not have been airtight enough to contain the Zyklon B gas used to murder prisoners. In reality, many of the wooden doors were either replaced with airtight metal ones, or were made airtight with strips of felt that then deteriorated or were removed

Zio - An abbreviation of "Zionist". Used derogatorialy by neo-Nazis

WPRWS - 'Weimar Problems Require Weimar Solutions" (sometimes shortened to just "Weimar Problems" or "Weimar Solutions"). Prior to the rise of the Nazi Party, the democratic Weimar Republic was in financial crisis (the eponymous "Weimar Problem"). This was often blamed on the Jews. The "Weimar Solution" is Naziism

ZOG - Zionist Occupied Government, reflecting the belief that the United States government is controlled by Jews