#grog shanty

[whats-in-a-sentence]

Among their shanties were Blue Ruin and The Gigantic Swindle, but D'arcy's haunt was The Dead Finish. None of these rough roadside huts were licensed but the owner of The Dead Finish was never troubled by the authorities.

No police ever came his way, unless it was the officer in charge of the native black troopers, when returning from a "dispersing" expedition, and he way only too glad to get to the "Dead Finish," where he would make some such excuse as "knocked-up horses" in order to remain a few days enjoying Brooks's brandy. It was not his business, he would say, "to trouble as to licenses; that was the duty of the common constable. He, thank goodness, was not sunk so low as that. He was a sub-inspector in charge of native police," which occupation he interpreted as a license to shoot down men, to capture women and children, to burn mi-mi houses*, and to destroy native property in general whenever met with.

* A version of mia-mia, a temporary shelter.

"Killing for Country: A Family History" - David Marr

[captainkingsley]

me just putting on every longest johns album on repeat to memorize more of their songs

[inthevintagekitchen]

On This Day in 1861: Brooklyn Want Ads, Hot Grog and A Sailor's Time-Honored Tradition

An unidentified sailor in Union Uniform circa 1861-1865. Photo: Library of Congress. April 10th, 1861. On this day in history, if you were a sailor perusing the newspapers of Brooklyn, New York you’d find your next maritime adventure tucked in between advertisements for Shakespearean readings, housekeepers for hire, and rubber teeth dentistry services. There, in a want ad posted in the Brooklyn…

[archive-of-alexandria]

Weak Ankles (Zoro x Reader)

A/N: One big helping of Zoro x Reader fluff, full of pining with a healthy dose of yearning. Somewhat inspired by that scene in Hercules, because it just felt too perfect for Zoro <3 xx

**

Zoro has never encountered a fight he can't muscle his way out of.

Having recessed into the corner booth of some podunk tavern while armed with nothing but a dangerously low bottle of sake and a healthy dose of self-imposed misery, however, he feels his chances of winning this particular battle dwindle by the minute.

As his swig bleeds the bottle dry, Zoro groans and drags his hand over his face. He succumbs to his desire to wallow.

Hell or high water, right?

Zoro has never encountered a fight he can't muscle his way out of, but the swordsman has never charged head-first into mushy feelings either.

Perhaps that's why he's seeking refuge back on the Going Merry as the sounds of the party rattle on the breeze behind him, trailing him, like a specter.

Zoro grimaces.

Kunia had once explained sword fighting as a language, and the idea has stuck with Zoro ever since. Sparring matches had turned into spelling bees, each hit earning a vowel or letter.

The first one with enough hits to spell out f-u-c-k-y-o-u was always the winner.

Zoro knows the language of fighting well.

There is no training to be had for situations like these...situations that call for finesse with words that can't be spoken with the hilt of a blade.

The ocean is deep and dark with evening and yet Zoro's eyes are glued to the depths, willing divine intervention to give him a direction.

He gives the railing a small shake, mock-pretending the water is like one of those fortune-teller spheres. No reply but his own reflection.

Outcome is unlikely.

A stirring on the deck catches his attention, hand moving to his hilt as he stiffens.

A soft voice breaks through the night.

"Hello."

...

"Hey."

**

Zoro's eyes zoned in on a figure through the sake's warped glass, the sight impossible to miss even from his hiding place. Zoro's lip had quirked up, though he'll never admit it - another small defeat at the hands of his unsuspecting foe.

Who could ever miss a sight such as you?

No, there was absolutely no way a soul in the taverna could miss the sight of you - your feet planted firmly on a tabletop with your head thrown back in glee. You're a whirlwind of whipping hair and skirts as a maritime shanty pours from your throat. Grog splashes from the stien in your grip, ale sloshing and spraying like the ocean you merrily sing of. The whole of the island seems to be singing with you, the tavern bursting with music and laughter as patrons slur out the words to the refrain.

When Luffy argued that pirating wouldn't be complete without a bard to chronicle the legendary adventures of the Going Merry, Zoro had staunchly opposed the idea. What good would a bard be in battle? What navigation skills, if anything?

Someone can't sing their way to victory.

As Zoro sat mesmerized, he began to think he was very, very wrong.

This is true power, Zoro mused from his place of solitude, Swaying complete strangers with nothing but the sound of your voice.

When he realized he'd been grinning like a fool, Zoro swallowed.

He was desperately losing this uphill battle.

**

The deck of the ship suddenly seems miles long.

Zoro can make out your reddened cheeks in the darkness, alight with the warm glow of youth as a sweet smile settles on your lips.

"You left."

Zoro's heart clenches at the simplicity of your words. He doesn't move.

"Yeah, I did."

Undeterred, you begin to move towards him. It's stumbly, though the sound of your soft chuckle lets him know you're aware of how foolish you seem. He watches as you make your way towards him, your eyes never leaving his face.

A homing beacon.

"I was wondering where you'd gone,"

"Hm?"

"I was saving a dance for you, Zo."

Your voice is quiet. Zoro's blood runs cold.

You had sought him out - he imagines your eyes twinkling, hair wild and free falling all around you like a halo as you reached for him from your makeshift stage only to find him gone.

To punctuate your confession, your feet seem to shuffle in a dance much too elegant for having been stomping on tables and slamming down ale, and yet here you are - light as a feather in the midsummer breeze.

The bouncing of your body keeps in rhythmic time with the gentle crash of the waves, and realization crosses the swordsman's face.

You're not dancing. You're moving through the seogi he has taught you during training.

Zoro's heart swells, a breath of a laugh passing through his lips.

"That's some fancy footwork, twinkle toes."

As if his words jinxed you, your foot catches hold of a divot in the planks. Zoro's reflexes are quick, securing you to his chest as you squeak out a yelp - an arm around your waist and the other on your forearm without so much as a thought.

A bashful smile blooms on your blushing face, cheeks dusted pink from the alcohol and the proximity of your bodies. You try to stand, pressing your forehead to his.

"Hmm..." You chuckle, closing your eyes tight. You bunch up Zoro's tunic in your fingers.

He wonders if you can feel his skin on fire beneath the flimsy fabric.

He holds his breath.

"Weak ankles."

The thick summer air is sucked from Zoro's lungs. You're near catlike in the way you seem to curl into him, nestling closer and closer...

Before the moment settles too deep, you're speaking again.

"Oh! That reminds me of a story...!"

"Haven't you told enough stories tonight?"

Although he teases, Zoro doesn't mean it. No. Not when the sky is clear and bright and your body is pressed so tightly to his and your eyes seem to glitter as they peer into his own.

As you playfully swat his chest and snort out a laugh, Zoro silently vows to spend a lifetime listening to your tales.

"N-No! No," You insist, "This is my last one - promise! Telling stories is my job anyway~!"

No one is around to hear the giggles from the two of you or to see the way Zoro's smile hangs lopsided, or to catch the slight flex of his fingers as he pulls you even closer.

"Well then," He gently butts your forehead with his,

"Go on."

You begin to weave a tale of a brave young soldier, born with great skill and undefeated in battle. You tell Zoro the hero reminds you of him. He stumbles out a "thank you".

You say that the "great soldier" had lived in disguise as a young woman, sparking a short, teasing aside about how he would make a lovely woman (which Zoro vehemently denied).

You speak of a great battle and your gaze is far away, your fingers tracing patterns along Zoro's chest, every tug and pull of the fabric between your fingers tightening the hold on his heartstrings.

You explain how the soldier's mother had dipped him in a river but forgot the heel, and in his final battle was struck down in the very same spot. You make a quip about everyone having their very own "heel" in life before proclaiming that the tale is very romantic and sad.

Your arms slide up and around his neck, fingers finding their way into his hair.

Zoro's jaw clenches. Your eyes fall to his lips.

There is no wind, no waves. The entire world seems to have stopped breathing in anticipation.

Zoro's mind desperately searches for anything from his training to tether himself to at this moment, foggy from the way your breath tickles his face and the blood pounds in his ears.

In an instant, he makes a move.

"Your...your ankle."

He drops to his knee, breaking all contact.

Your breathing shutters, arms wrapping around yourself in comfort.

Zoro is glad it is dark.

He takes in the delicate slope of your ankle in his hand, pulling the bandana from his head to prep a makeshift brace for your sprain.

You sit in silence as he works, though his mind is far from quiet.

Zoro cannot afford to have soft spots like weak ankles. All of his training will be wasted.

No.

Zoro cannot afford to admit that he's in love with you. Not to you, not even to himself.

Your hand gently raking through his hair pulls Zoro from his stupor, eyes snapping up to meet yours.

"My hero," You hum, "Zoro..."

He can see himself reflected in your irises.

Your hand moves to caress his face.

It never happens.

Zoro grabs your wrist before you can even blink, gaze downcast, and grip uncomfortably tight.

"We should get you to bed."

**

Zoro hasn't slept in three days.

You've been avoiding him for three days.

Zoro doesn't blame you, though - he knows that he embarrassed you a few nights ago. Nami makes sure he knows just how badly he fucked up as well, throwing glares in his direction and spitting venom his way...

How could you do that to her?

Don't you realize how much she cares for you?

Have you transported all of your brains into your muscles, asshole?!

The Going Merry was certainly a far cry from merry.

Luffy was the only crewmate who entertained the idea of sparring with Zoro without an alternative motivation to beat the shit out of him for what he's done.

As Zoro countered Luffy's hook, the sound of your laughter floated through the air.

In a moment of weakness, he allowed himself to look.

You were seated as Chopper entertained you with his dance moves, clapping encouragement and cooing praises. The smile on your face made Zoro's chest grow tight.

Luffy had taken the opportunity to pounce in Zoro's distraction, sweeping the swordsman's leg clean out from underneath him.

"Ha HA! Gotcha! Victory!"

Nami whoops from down below, and Zoro mutters a curse.

"What happened there, Zoro?"

Luffy's voice is far away as Zoro thinks back to fighting lessons with you. He had taken Kunia's advice, using his sword to speak the words he could not. Every tap, every jab, each little correction of your form follows the sparring language he had made up as a child.

Every time, he finds ways to spell out i-l-o-v-e-y-o-u.

Zoro had promised to teach you how to fight for selfish reasons. He can't afford to let his weaknesses show, but helping you grow strong enough to protect yourself...that will have to be enough. Even if you can't see it that way.

Zoro sucks his teeth, giving his head a shake as he accepts Luffy's help up.

"Tch - weak ankles..."

[mistresslrigtar]

Word Search Game - Part Two!

Rules: In a new post use the words below (or choose your own) to find where they appear in your WIP/s and share those parts.

Thank you @drsteggy for the tag! I answered one of these yesterday, but I have a couple of more WIPs percolating, so here are three more snippets - an OOT novella, a potential OOT Shink one-shot, and another from Captain Araki.

My words were sweet, horse, and raucous

Sweet

Opening to Pen Pals (an OOT novella):

The lowing of the cattle in their stalls below Link was soothing as he sat cross-legged on a haybale and tried to decipher the latest letter from Princess Zelda he’d received earlier in the day. He’d eagerly taken it from the postman, shoving it in his pocket, where it burned a hole all day as he went about his daily chores on Lon Lon Ranch. The sweet scent of hay blended with the musty loft and a hint of manure, reminding Link he still needed to muck out the barn before he washed up for dinner. Malon was making his favorite meal, stuffed pumpkins to celebrate his first full year working on the ranch.

Horse

Snippet from Seven Years (an OOT Shink one-shot):

Link hesitated at the entrance to the forest, choosing to run his fingers through his mare’s silky flaxen mane, instead of continuing down the path. Sheik chased away the traitorous thoughts of his fingers threading through their own golden tresses by pinching their arm. It was only when the sharp sting brought tears to their eyes that they released the pressure. In the time that took, the faithful horse remained, nervously pawing at the earth, but Link had disappeared from sight.

Raucous

Snippet from Captain Araki and the Harbinger of Destiny:

Link’s grin broadens and he laughs when the raucous crew of the King pour out hauling up a barrel of grog and satchels of roasted nuts, dried fruit, and roasted cucco. They spread the food out on several crates piled along the aft railing. Niko hands Groose his hand organ and pulls a pan flute out of his back pocket.

Without missing a beat, Groose begins playing a jaunty sea shanty and Niko joins in on the flute. Loot settles on a nearby crate and accompanies them, keeping time with a hand drum. Laughter fills the air. Knocking mugs of grog together, the remaining crew stomp their feet and begin singing along. Mutoh separates from the group, something tucked beneath his arm and approaches Link.

I tag @sparklyhyperbole @mailrebel and @raurusthirdeye

Your words are hot, cooking, and uncertain

[maggotwithanf]

ok it's FINALLY DONE LOL

You are CORDIALLY INVITED to attend Shantytown this year at Wasteland Weekend!! KitKat and Bison have prepared some fucking AWESOME stuff for the grand shanty march, and friends are always welcome to share our grog!

All are welcome + it starts at Bonertown (#1: The Bruid/Operation Dessert Storm in the Theme Zone) right after the Jugger match, where my tribe will be playing against the Army of LA!! COME HANG OUT WE LOVE YOU

[ltwilliammowett]

Tonight I was at a part y and I have to much to drink im a druken sailor what you going to do with me?

If you think I'm quoting a shanty here, you've got another think coming. You showed up at my watch, drunk. That means you'll be put in irons and sobered up first. If you're lucky, the Captain'll only cut off your grog for the next few days and you'll be on schwabber duty. (If things don't go so well, you'll meet the cat tomorrow at lunchtime, who will then tenderly beautify your back 12 times.

[feyd-rautha-apologist]

A lot of people have been saying that ogors (gutbusters at least) don't really fit that well in Age of Sigmar because they're basically just transplanted one to one from their WFB version. Here's an idea for how GW could "AoSify" gutbusters for their (hopefully) eventual range refresh:

I think AoS should really heavily lean into the pirate theme gutbusters kinda have going on right now. Imagine if all of the gutbusters (or at least a whole bunch of them) get hit with the Everwinter curse as well, but instead of doing what the beastclaw raiders did, they all pile onto giant sailing ships & become full-on ogor pirates.

They don't ever have to worry about sailing against the wind or getting becalmed because they constantly have a magical snowstorm right the fuck behind them. They'd propably be a lot better at actually outrunning the thing for a while, sailing ships are quite a bit faster than mammoths. I can't imagine they'd be that great at climbing up and down rigging & stuff, but that's what they have gnoblars for. When they go out to board a ship or raid a port they just pick up their cannons & keep blasting shit. Tyrant Captains trading with and/or pillaging port cities like Misthåvn and Excelsis. Butcher Quartermasters summoning giant mawstrom currents. Sea shanties about how much they love blood grog and boneflour hardtack (the weevils are the best part). Do any of you see my vision

[diary-of-a-mad-man]

Alright I have a 6 and half hour playlist of sea shanties and bard tavern like tunes. Therefore I will be assigning said songs to the pirate smp memebers, this list will update and change with the story. I accept opinions and thoughts for those changes

Current List

Pirate SMP Sea Shanty List

Herons

ZombieCleo - All for me Grog

Olivesleepy -

OwengeJuice - The Last Shanty

SoupforEloise -

Smajor - Farewell Wanderlust

Watermunch -

Kestrels

Scar - The Flying Dutchman

Oli - Leave Her Johnny

Guqqie - Under a Violet Moon

Kyle -

Sausage - A Drop of Nelson’s Blood

Martyn - Bones in the Ocean

Kites

Aimsey - You and Me and the Devil Makes Three

Krow -

Reddoons - Drunken Salior

Bekyamon -

Tubbo -

Puffy - Captain Crow

Nightingale

Willowmvp -

Acho - Inkpot Gods

Graecie -

Roscumber -

DarkEyebrows -

Apokuna -

Oli’s Wife - Jolene (kisstrels lmao)

Songs I definitely want to add but I don’t know where yet;

Loreley, Savage Daughter, Touch the Sky, The Horror and The Wild, Teir Abhaile Riu, Santiana, Fish in the Sea

Playlist Link

[retphienix]

An underrated part of the gameplay loop in sea of thieves is that they. somehow, built a means to have a perfect "send off" when you're play session is complete.

Sure, you could just log off, everyone saying good bye/later/good night and hopping off SoT for the day.

But, due to very smart decisions by Rare in regards to what "matters" and what "consequences" exist in the gameplay of SoT, you can instead all gather round, drink some grog, play some music, stack some bombs on the ship, pull the anchor, and take pot shots / toss firebombs at the beautiful lady as she sails out to sea on her own in a fiery blaze.

They created a means to end game sessions that I adore. You get to just chill with silly sea shanty music, drinking, throwing up in buckets, and story telling as you talk about what you accomplished (or didn't!) that day while watching the wonderful ship that accommodated that journey become a light show on the open waves~

[sorcerous-caress]

I thought I heard the Old Man say

"Leave her, Johnny, leave her"

Tomorrow ye will get your pay

And it's time for us to leave her

Ever since they've saved Wyll’s father there's been…a aching feeling in her chest, it's not a secret that she didn't deserve Wyll. Yet, everytime she met his father's eyes it becomes more apparent.

Kira knows her reputation as a captain, hailing from Luskan and a deadly woman of the Trackless Sea. Being compared to a fearsome hag, that feeds off trouble and turmoil. She's cleared the deck of a military galleon like it were nothing and made Luskan fur traders bleed their weight in gold.

Not the type of woman you want your son gallivanting around, let alone share his bed with.

It's obvious that Ulder suspects she'll turncoat and leave as soon a she can reap the spoils of victory.

she's not paranoid, she swears.

Leave her, Johnny, leave her

Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her

For the voyage is long and the winds don't blow

And it's time for us to leave her

It was times like these she would sing, it had become a regular route for her to lull Wyll to sleep after lovemaking. Feeling the sweat on his skin slowly dry under her fingers as they lovingly traced each mole and scar.

This night is different, she's alone on the deck of her ship strumming her lute aimlessly singing a shanty. Thankfully, when she was taken onto the nautiloid her crew actually manage to make it to Port with her ship not damaged.

I hate to sail on this rotten tub

Leave her, Johnny, leave her

No grog allowed and rotten grub

And it's time for us to leave her

Leave her, Johnny, leave her

Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her

For the voyage is long and the winds don't blow

And it's time for us to leave her

Showing off her pride and joy to Wyll was pure elation at first, gifting furs, jewelry and his favorite rum; and finishing off the night with a private dance on deck, pressing kisses to his dimples.

It wasn't until she took him to bed that foul truths began swimming through her head, were those gifts originated from.

Not every treasure she plundered came from a fellow pirate, corrupt trader or warlord..There was alot of innocent blood mixed in with her gold and crew.

Kira won't lie it never really bothered her much, in this life you have to seize every opportunity. But, now that she has Wyll it all feels akin to rot in her soul, like she's swindling Lady Luck herself by keeping him by her side.

We swear by rote for want of more

Leave her, Johnny, leave her

But now we're through so we'll go on shore

And it's time for us to leave her

Leave her, Johnny, leave her

Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her

For the voyage is long and the winds don't blow

And it's time for us to leave her

Wyll is a great man and he deserves a woman far better than her..

-githzerai anon

Song: Leave Her, Johnny Song by Michel Schrey and Seán Dagher

hehe, self-doubt angst time

I feel like in a better run than my original, Kira would've wanted to be a better person for Wyll. But unfortunately for her I fucked up, made her worse and paired her with Minthara.

I'm going to avoid my mod folder and try and finish WIPS.

God that was mesmerising anon, song fics are always a favourite of mine, great job <3.

Also is there a title you'd like me to use for each fic? I don't want to take the liberty to title them myself since you've put so much effort into them.

I think doomed love stories are always interesting, you know they won't make it but a part of you can't help but read it and hope for the best. It's like attempting to reach the sun, you know it's impossible but you have to keep trying.

Good choice avoiding the mod folder because a new modpocalypse is happening rn, i am hanging by a thread. Everything is broken, there are hundreds of threads waiting for that one person to update their very important mod that 90% of the other mods depend on.

[nodforsaken]

【N】【O】【D】

First Mate of the Jolly Roger / Third Oldest Human / Fiddle Player / Ex-Lost Boy / Ex-Twin / Mass Murderer, Domestic Terrorist & Extinction Artist.

NEVER. SKELETON. PINTEREST. FOG. (WIP)

introductory headcanons below the cut.

TW: grief, psychosis, sibling death, animal(?) death, flagrant fairy genocide apologetics.

lost name : Noland Donald Galloway nicknames : Nod age : oh honey, gender identity : cis man, he/him pronouns sexual identity : presumed heterosexual but that doesn't explain the bedroom eyes he gives marlowe. family : Foley Owen Galloway / "Fog" ( twin brother, deceased ), Jamie "Hook" ( older brother figure ), Charlie ( younger brother figure ) personality traits : loyal, swashbuckling, reliable, playful, boyish, charismatic, evasive, cocky, nonchalant, cool-headed, flirtatious, sarcastic, seemingly optimistic, internally pessimistic, romantic, chivalrous, valiant, gossip queen, humanitarian, candid, nosey curious, patient, steadfast. Which is all fine and good, except that he's been losing sleep and possibly losing his mind and will progressively become more undone, sloppy, and testy until he addresses the problems he keeps suppressing. weapon of choice : Dual daggers (second one originally belonged to Fog), but most prefers to lay traps with fishnets, rope, and loose planks or shallow holes around the Pirates Camp to keep Lost Boys at bay in nonviolent ways. likes : sea shanties and folk songs, card games, darts, redheads, fruit, grog rum, friendly competition, lifting heavy things and generally showing off muscles he's been honing for an ungodly amount of years he's spent on this hell island, getting a smile out of Victor or Isadora, lightheartedly messing with Lost Boys (riling up Rufio or Davie and then leading them into a trap to get them off the battlefield, annoying Bones and Curly in the boneyard, 100% used to teasingly flirt with Fiona when she was rolling with them), dancing, fishing, haggling for goods with other ships (he's a class act schmoozer), collecting postcards and maps of places he'll never get to visit. dislikes : looking Small Folk in the eye.

✖ Despite growing into a steadfast right hand to the only good and honest leader in Neverland, his demeanor is still that of a boyish rogue. He’s prone to wandering into his own adventures or dragging one of his mates with him on his escapades when they’re docked at shore, wont to tempt fate and heckle Lost Boys just before the point of provoking serious retaliation, or mingle with merfolk on nights he knows the moon isn’t too full. He’ll drink and play poker until sunrise with his crewmates if he knows the pirates are in a good, civil place with their adversaries and shouldn’t expect any emergencies that night. (Though sometimes he slips up when walking the tightrope of being the responsible yet cool older brother figure to his crewmates, usually around the times that he starts seeing his twin and reverts back to a less mature level of self-control, finding himself drinking a little too hard to dull his perception of the long-lost Lost Boy haunting his periphery. More on that later~ <3) After aging up, he's developed a flirtatious cockiness, particularly around women. He is prone to holding up the departure of other pirate crews that the Jolly Roger is in negotiations with because he and one of the visiting ship’s female crewmates scurried off into the first mate’s quarters and walked back out giggling. It may put him at odds with Isadora, but he’s responsible enough not to flirt with his own crewmates in a way they would take seriously. Hook probably wouldn’t approve of any inter-ship relationships anyway. And Nod may just be throwing affection at anyone to see if anything sticks. If he can fall in love with anyone who isn’t allied with Peter or Ianthe, maybe he can forget about the bloodthirsty, heartless, evil, siren-eyed, lovely, comforting, warm, kind mermaid he's dreamed about since he was a child.

✖ Kind of extrapolating this interpretation of him from the line in his bio about how the merfolk are uncommonly fond of him, especially for a human: He has natural charisma. I think he’s always radiated personality and confidence, and still maintains most of that, even after everything he's been through--- or at least, he’s very adept at faking it, especially on the ship, where he feels most comfortable. It’s easy for him to be laid-back and reassuring to others when he isn’t the one burdened with the full responsibilities of the captain of the ship, and when he has more experience in Neverland than all but two humans. He makes for a good diplomat with the merfolk when Hook isn’t available to talk to Ianthe, and he knows the mind of a Lost Boy well enough to navigate encounters with them pretty smoothly when he has to. I can see him as the welcome wagon on the ship, as someone crewmates sees as extremely dependable and friendly. He values and cares for every pirate on the ship, in an almost active effort to foster a better community than Peter did with his disposable little strays. If Hook is the strong father figure to the pirates, Nod is perhaps the mother hen, albeit in his own rowdy way, as a lifelong ruffian. In the leadership on the Jolly Roger, I want him to be a foil to Hook’s short temper. I’m going to say Nod grew into a very mature, level-headed, trustworthy man with a good sense of humor. If a crewmate has bad news to share or need to confide any kind of problem on the ship, I could see them coming to Nod with the information first, because he’s least likely to snap at them, and everyone knows that Hook will receive the news better if it's passed on to him through his faithful best friend. They’ve known each other for so long, I imagine Nod knows the best ways to navigate Hook’s temper and keep him zen. I also need to ask Ashleigh how Hook would receive it if Nod still called him Jamie, if he should call him that at all times and even in front of other crewmates, if I should save it for more intimate moments between them, or if he wouldn't like it at all and I should just make it something that slips out accidentally.

✖ Nod has never made physical contact with Alana before. He worries that he cherishes their friendship much more than he should, in the interest of being careful. Alana is the person he smiles with more than anyone else, but he knows that the loyalty of the merfolk will always skew towards Peter, and Nod can’t risk Peter using a vulnerable moment of trust against a pirate. He has a recurring nightmare where, the second his fingers graze her, she yanks him under the water and down to the darkest, deepest floor of the ocean and rip him to shreds. And yet, he can’t help but fantasize about finally running his hands through her red hair, even in the moments where he makes her laugh enough for her to reveal her sharp teeth. Against his better judgment, those are the moments he wants to touch her most. 

✖ He looks forward to new moons, because that’s become his usual time to find Alana and talk for longer than a few passing friendly words. This has less to do with a fear of Alana being more dangerous or temperamental when the moon is full, and more to do with her fellow merfolk minding their own business and not giving either of them any trouble for fraternizing when they aren't in a lunar frenzy. He always arrives with a coy excuse as to why he’s in the area, never admitting out loud that he came to the lagoon to see her. but they both know the truth. At this point, even he smiles incredulously at himself as he’s explaining that he’s just innocuously scavenging for food on a barren shoreline.

✖ Once upon a time, before coming to Neverland, Nod and Fog were little musicians who performed in the street for money. Nod played the fiddle while Fog played the mandolin. They brought their instruments with them and used to play them around the bonfire while the other Lost Boys danced and chanted, and sometimes Nod would walk down by the lagoon with his fiddle and play for the merfolk. Nod still plays to this day, and keeps Fog's mandolin hidden in a chest underneath his bed (he went through a hell of a heist mission to retrieve it from the Lost Boys' tree in the week after his pirate heel turn. He finally tuned the old mandolin and has been learning it in the past few years, but he would never play it for anyone but Alana. He isn't as confident with it as he is with his trusty fiddle, which he loves to use to supplement sea shanties and boost crew morale.

✖ Since becoming a pirate, Nod has taken to wearing the color blue much more, in a subconscious tribute to Fog’s favorite color to wear. In truth, though, his favorite color, and the one he always loved to wear, is red.

✖ As a rambunctious Lost Boy with a reputation to uphold, he used to wait until nobody could see him to try to feed, help, or otherwise befriend other living creatures on the island. During Neverland’s prosperous times, when the boys had so much food that they would throw away perfectly good excess, Nod would wait until dark to sneak away with their leftovers and leave it where animals could scavenge for it. During games where the boys were hunting and recklessly knocked down a birds’ nest, Nod would suggest that they split up to find their prey, and circle back alone to try to put the birds nest back on the branch it fell from without anyone knowing. And after a long time of watching merfolk from a distance and always being able to pick Alana out of a pack by her vibrant red tail, he thought of her when he found a beautiful red-speckled seashell along the area where the beach sand meets the forest floor. The first time he snuck away from Fog to visit the lagoon, he left the shell on the rock that he noticed Alana always seemed to rest on.  

It was silly, of course, to leave a seashell for a mermaid, as if the ocean-dwellers weren’t more than capable of finding their own. He realized that after the fact, and started to look for other things to leave the nice, playful mermaid. Any time he saw a red knick-knack anywhere on land, he would ever-so-discreetly leave it near the boulder he has dubbed “The Red Rock.” Even to this day, he never directly hands his rare little red trinkets to her: marbles, rhinestones, flowers, exotic feathers, painted pebbles, a teacup with roses painted on it. Even as a pirate, bartering away his favorite boots to other ships in exchange for a red pendant necklace to leave on a rock, he doesn’t like to draw any attention to it; he just casually leaves it in his wake after they finish chatting, lest he address out loud how devoted he is to her. Alana has always known that he was the little boy leaving these gifts behind though, from the very first time he thought he was being very sneaky, placing his red-speckled seashell at her rest stop without any eyes watching him from deep underneath the surface of the water.

✖ If Hook’s bond with Charlie is described as paternal in this found family, then I want to lean into Nod’s role as an older brother to him. I think it’s especially interesting given the nature of their relationships with their respective absentee brothers. Nod would commit atrocities without a second thought to keep Charlie safe from harm and never lose a brother again. He loves having this boy he quite literally grew up with in his life after all this time, and he’s at his absolute most lively with him. He can almost relive the way he felt with Fog when he’s around Charlie; he loves him the same way. He’ll tease him like a brother and laugh with him about juvenile inside jokes that they beat into the ground. He might get caught up in a playful moment and go too far, though. At the end of the day, Charlie will always be very different from Fog. When Nod gets carried away and starts wrestling or roughhousing with Charlie the way he could with his unruly twin brother, Charlie might get flashbacks to his biological older brother, whose out-of-control horseplay sealed his fate. I could see this being the reason Charlie will probably never be as close to Nod as he is to Hook, but I also want to maintain that their relationship is still a significantly tender one. Nod is very quick to drop everything in the interest of lifting Charlie's spirits if he realizes he's been too quiet lately. He wants to keep his confidence high and do whatever he can to keep him from feeling too hopeless on this terrifying island. Nod also may end up at odds with Hook when he thinks Hook is being a little too overprotective of Charlie. He may let him get away with exploring a little more than Hook thinks is safe for him, because he wants to see Charlie stop filling the role of the baby of the ship and start growing up and branching out. If he catches Charlie’s eyes linger on a crewmate of a passing ship, Nod may try to talk him up to the crewmate or even “accidentally” knock them into Charlie with a large barrel he’s carrying during a trade.

✖ Fog usually “visits” Nod more often in his periods of distress. The harder Nod has to work to suppress any feelings of guilt, fear, and despair in the interest of keeping morale high on the Jolly Roger, the more Nod appears in his dreams to haunt him about allies he isn’t sure he should trust, or remind him of the atrocities he’s committed after Nod keeps trying to brush off as a necessary evil or downplay by waving the Many-Eyed off as unfeeling monsters, and make sure Nod never escapes the very first hardship he’s still never confronted after all these years: his survivor’s guilt. He remembers Fog as being much more saintly than the little asshole probably was, back when they were such feral, snot-nosed, callous troublemakers that Nod felt he needed to sneak around to have polite conversation with the merfolk, lest his brother find out he wasn’t trying to pelt every living creature on the island with rolled-up balls of animal dung in a slingshot. He looks back on the unwavering trust and loyalty he felt with his twin, and sees it as the ultimate virtue after a lifetime of seeing constant tricks, traps, and betrayals on this God-forsaken island. For example, the Fog who exists in his head seems to haunt him by making him hear the unforgettable sound of Fog’s death rattle any time Nod tries to abandon a Lost Boy in peril, but as a brutal kid, he would probably call a Lost Boy who couldn't find his way out of quicksand "dead weight." Maybe Nod assumes Fog would have turned out to be even more mature and compassionate than Nod is now if he had the chance to grow up, because when they were boys, Fog was the older, louder twin who seemed to be better at everything and commanded more respect, and Nod assumes he would have been better at being a good man, too.

✖ I think Nod would get along with Canary Robb on the grounds of their love of local fauna. I don’t want to steal that character’s stride as the resident nature lover, but I love the mention in Alana’s bio that one of Nod’s best qualities to her was his respect for wildlife, and I want to keep that as a major trait of his. Especially because it highlights how much he’s willing to sacrifice when it comes to keeping Charlie safe. A lifetime of stepping around ant hills and leaving seeds for critters when Peter and Hook weren’t looking can be put aside if the extinction of an entire species is what it takes to save his little brother. He’s sorry it had to end the way he did, but he doesn’t regret it. If the choice is the life of one pirate over the lives of countless Neverlanders, he’ll choose his crewmate every time. Really, he doesn’t even lose sleep over it. Nod isn’t haunted by the guilt of the massacre of two species or anything. Honest. ..... ..............Fog still seems pretty hung up on it, though. 

✖ I want to encourage all OC applicants to feel free to throw Nod into their Connections! He’s a personable jackass, so he's bound to leave impressions (good or bad) with anyone he meets, and been around for so long, I assume he has some history with almost everyone, and would be widely known. I want to make sure to plot with every single character. I also want to fill literally every wanted connection I have ever seen on anybody's introductions, but I'll try to hold myself back. I'm going to say he's sociable enough (especially compared to other pirates who may be more closed-off) that he would directly ask Cecco about his history and warm-heartedly encourage him to open up about his history, so I'll leave the Secretly-Snooping-Through-The-Quartermasters'-Quarters connection open for somebody else and request that Nod fill his "Confidante" connection. I DEFINITELY think he would dance with Anna if she doesn't mind him getting too into it. He misses dancing from his time frolicking around bonfires as a Lost Boy, but she would definitely need to slap him upside the head when he sarcastically(?) praises her for being such a proper, enchanting lady. I think he's definitely up to the challenge of trying to win Tinkerbell over from Peter, even if he has a few "I-Killed-Your-Entire-Colony" penalty points working against his favor with her. I think that same chivalrous streak of his would prompt him to fill Wendy's "Cynicism-vs-Optimism" connection. As a former Lost Boy who used to idolize Peter, I think his heart would break seeing this girl be so naively taken by him. I also imagine him being very close with Bill Jukes on the grounds of him being a real pirates' pirate; I think Nod would've picked up a lot of the culture from him and really ran with it over the years.

[cloudthehusky]

"Ahoy there! Have you come to hear a shanty? Or how about a cup of grog?" -Captain Cross

[mmmmmmmilo]

tag game!!

the lovely @paprotkarotka and wonderful @deliriiuumm both tagged me on this thing (it's been years since I've been tagged on smth??? thanks???), so let's do this!!

Rules: Tag 10 (or less) people you want to get to know better

relationship status: disgustingly in love with a man. who knew.

favourite colour: purple is the only correct option

song stuck in my head: puedes contar conmigo, by la oreja de van gogh. I've been nostalgic lately

three favourite foods: pizza (I know, basic ass answer, but what else do you want me to say), fried eggs and french fries (it's a Spaniard thing, don't ask) and pickles (what about it)

last song i listened to: all for me grog, by the longest johns & el pony pisador (it's a sea shanty, I've got no excuse for that)

dream trip: I'd love to go on a roadtrip and visit all of Ireland

the last thing(s) I googled: what is white chocolate made of

i'm too shy to tag, but

i'm tagging (you can ignore this if u don't wanna): @anaviarts @serenailith @spockandthings

[destructionmylofe]

I was born to climb the rigging and sing shanties with a mug o grog in my hand

We need to go back to using sailing ships full time like immediately. Yes it would take longer to get places but the Aesthetic is unmatched

Like there is nothing sexier hthan this

[pr1ncesspopstar]

An Admiral's Deal - FFXIV Write 2024 - Day 9: Lend an Ear

Ao3

-

The Drowning Wrench was always busy come Saturday. For many it was the first day their ships finally returned to dock, and land welcomed them back with open arms. It was known that a dog could love the sea more than any other, but there were simply some luxuries only found with your feet planted on terra firma. Space to stretch your arms, better food than any found in the gully of a ship, and of course, the variety of pretty company one might get lucky with or could slip a few coins to increase their chances to land a night in a softer bed with softer cabin mates.

All walks of life sat and wandered from table to table. A band of bards taking it upon themselves to play music to back the sea shanties sang by the roughest pirates, and the more homely folksongs the wives and daughters of these men. Drinks were passed, and sometimes fists were thrown, but all was done with mirth and joy of the new astral era.

And yet, Halditar seemed oblivious to it all.

She had her mane of hair pulled over her shoulder, finger twirling amongst the pale locks before combing through, undoing the tangles her restless fingers made. Her glass was half-empty, her eyes unfocused staring at the blurry visage of her reflecting off the surface of green-tinged grog. The music in her ears was dulled by a constant ringing, high pitched but not loud. Adding a layer of snow to every thing that surrounded the Warrior of Light, as if smothered by fabric.

“You look like you’ve just seen ghost, ‘kind knight.’”

She jerked her head up, having not expected someone to break through the haze. The chair across from Halditar screeched against the wooden floor before the person settled into it, waving a hand laxly to call off a waitress.

“Probably seen less than you have, ‘wife of the sea.’” Halditar laughed some weak, little sound, far from the opposite of her usual volume. It felt hard of late, to bring it forth with intention. Her fingers dug hard into the sharpened edge of her dragoon armor, the pain a slight aid in easing the bubbling thoughts in her skull. She didn’t need those dulling her senses further.

Though bereft of her usual coat, the Admiral of Limsa Lominsa was ever recognizable. She was the quickest person Halditar had ever seen served, soon with a glass of wine in hand and bottle she was free to refill herself. She savored the fragrant beverage, Halditar catching a with of elderberries of flower, before continuing on, before speaking,

“I had gotten word you’ve been seen about the port quite frequently, and found it strange you hadn’t sent any message with want to meet, or just dropped in on my unannounced. I thought perhaps I could be the one to extend the invitation to drink first this time.”

Even speaking on something so simple, Merlwyb had such confidence and assurance in her words. She knew what she meant, and how to say it. No fussing or second guessing. Halditar wasn;t even sure she had seen the woman hesitate before. It was respect worthy, and something the redhead liked very much about the Lominsan leader. Part of the reason Halditar had started getting close to her, whether the Admiral had wanted it or not.

Perhaps the former pirate had at one point been annoyed by the over-eager adventurers pushing and radicalness, overzealous with youth and inexperience, flames of ambition threatening to extend themselves too far and get snuffed out but just one wrong encounter. But a shared love of combat, fishing, and a certain type of conversational wit that was really only ever understood between their ilk made for a fast friendship. That and a sort of draw between each other. Halditar wasn’t sure if Merlwyb felt it, but around her, Halditar felt… secure. Safe to be herself and let whatever weighed on her shoulders roll off.

If only it hadn’t felt like her arms were starting to shake. Not yet failing, but the strength she had wasn’t enough to hold up the weight that was building. It was only for moments at a time, but in the face of the deaths, the building tension in the air it seemed like only she could feel… She had been more staunch in training of late, picking up the bow alongside lance, spending long hours helping others, and spending her evening recovering before repeating the next day.

To the outside eye, the Warrior of Light was like an animal in a cage. Pacing, waiting for the moment to strike, the cage door to open and to be let out either to hunt, or have her foe charge in.

Perhaps that is what Merlwyb recognized in her as she leaned forward, middle finger gently tracing the rim of her wine glass, creating a soft, ethereal ringing sound.

“What is on your mind, friend?” She emphasized that word. Halditar wasn’t so daft to miss it, and her companion not so foolish to believe she didn’t.

Her insomnia-darkened eyes dragged over across the floor. She couldn’t see too well, but she didn’t need the enhancement her Echo granted to know that shade of blue. Maybe the others didn’t notice, but it was everywhere, hung over the back of seats and upon the coat hooks if it wasn’t being worn.

“Nothin’ anyone should hear.”

The words came out harsher than she meant them to, punctuated by draining her glass in several heavy glugs. It wasn’t the best she had had, a strange vegetal after taste following a fake sort of lemon, cinnamon, and vanilla that didn’t play nice together at all really. But it wasn’t heavy and she could knock back a lot of them without anyone getting on her case. She wiped away the moistness it left on her lips with the back of her hand and before she could wave down another, Merlwyb had popped the cork on her wine, and was filling up Halditar’s glass of her own will.

“Would it suffice that even if they heard, they wouldn’t understand?”

In an instant, the Warrior of Light froze.

How to describe the feeling and sensations was over her at that moment. Like lighting? No, too quick. The crashing of waves? That would imply a calm between the shock… Quicksand, was the best descriptor she realized. At first she did not believe her ears, taking a few moments to connect that those familiar words did indeed come from the Admiral’s lips. Her hands started to shake, refusing to stop even as she turned her fingers into a fist. She couldn’t name what it was she was feeling. Excitement, fear? Whatever it was, it made her mouth dry and some small pain blossomed in her chest. 

“You know the first tongue? How? I thought no one in Eorzea…” Halditar almost stammered her question, not only because she was shocked but it took her brain a few solid seconds to remember how to speak her native language.

“My grandfather taught me. Supposedly, before being run out, his side of the family had been record keepers. He thought it was important to carry on the legacy of the only language he had ever known, spit as it was in this land.” The way she spoke lended itself to the idea at the least. The emphasis on certain letters was more Eorzean, no doubt from having to so rarely speak the rainy tongue. That mattered little though, when put against her trained ears… Ah.

Halditar recognized this feeling now. Homesickness. Longing. Relief at hearing something she recognized after so long.

And how her stomach curdled at the realization.

“And if I were to guess where you learned the first tongue…”

“You would guess damn right,” Halditar knew she sounded snappish this time, and did not regret it. Anything to keep from talking more than needed about that place. She ran her tongue over her teeth, feeling the build up of alcohol on them and the taste of tannins flooded her tongue. “Admiral, let’s make a deal,” Halditar leaned in, grabbing the glass of wine she had been poured and using it to wet her parched throat. “While we speak like this, we only say what we truly feel.”

“Aye, I can concede to that.”

“I’m scared, Merlwyb.” Neither of their faces gave away the nature of their words, but voices did. A shake added to the timber of Halditar’s tone, unnotable unless you could speak like the rain. “Everything, it doesn’t feel like too much yet but it’s getting there. Things are happening that I think I understand, but then more happens and I start to realize I don’t. For a while when that happened, I’ve managed to roll with the punches but this time…”

No matter how sweet the drink, it did nothing to cover the ashy taste in Halditar’s mouth as the memories of death and whisperings she’d been hearing ‘round every corner, the inconsistencies she noted moment to moment clung tight to her brain. An answer, an explanation so close but just out of reach. “I feel like I’m being used, by friend and foe alike. They hear me talk but they don’t listen, I do as asked because it’s right but the more these circumstances build, I feel like the blade being aimed, and I don’t know where. My head just won’t stop spinning with all of these thoughts, I just can’t stop them.”

Halditar had to release her glass, for with each word her grip on it tightened and before long she felt it begin to yield. Any longer and glass would have embedded into her fingers. Her blood was hot, some warrior adrenaline pumping in her veins by the means of fear and fury. A blade being aimed… Her own words made her sick to her stomach. At some point her grip went white knuckled, still tight on the table before a larger hand placed itself atop it. A touch smaller with just a slight chill, Merlwyb’s eyes were steady and steely, an anchor for Halditar to latch to.

“I can only know as much as you tell me about the situation, and whatever ends up on my desk by reports and news. With that in mind, Halditar. I’ve seen far too many die foolish deaths because they didn’t trust their instincts and their senses. You’re especially lucky with a sense none of us have in that blessing of yours,” Merlwyb spoke carefully. It was a tone Halditar hadn't heard from her before. There was a fullness to her voice, her normal timber when addressing guests and those of the Maelstrom didn’t have. “So trust in yours. Tread carefully, it may not only save your life but those you wish to protect. And open yourself up more, to your Scion associates. That’s one of the ways you can push them to start listening to you.”

“I don’t know how I can do that when I barely even know them.” She snorted.

“That means they probably barely know you, too. I doubt you’d listen to a warning based on a ‘feeling’ from a stranger, would you?” That felt like a smack in the mouth. On instinct she ‘tsked’ in frustration. She told them all they needed to know, and presented herself plainly enough. She knew who she was and made it known. Any more than that was the past of someone that existed no more. No need to speak of who was dead.

“Of course, you're free to ignore a friend's advice.” Merlwyb could tell her suggestion wasn’t met with resounding reception, speaking as much.

“I’m not ignoring it. It’s just complicated, as I’m sure you can guess.”

“Plenty.” She said it like it was an excuse she heard before. Halditar could guess it was, knowing the immature nature of some privates, having a few herself in her own squadron.

They spoke more, some in aerzoeng, some in Eorzean common. The words at least kept Halditar anchored in the present rather than sinking into thoughts she needed to drink herself silly or dig her sharp armor into her fingers to manage. Her gaze was captured in the dark liquid that filled her glass, nearly black as she could only make out the vague shape of herself in its reflection, distorted and rippling, with no sign of peace for it this night until the liquid was drained to the final drop.