#seafaring story

[yourqueenb]

This look really works for her. I like her new hairstyle and all of the accessories. And it makes sense for her to be tatted. Honestly I think this is better than her old design as well

[waywardsalt]

for some reason i only recently realized another fun aspect of bellum x linebeck, that being at its core it’s kind of like what if a sea captain fell in love with the kraken and vice versa

[have-you-read-this-short-fiction]

"The Lonely Seafarer" is available to read here

[corvidarcana]

I’m generally not a fan of live action remakes but i just finished the One Piece netflix show and it slaps

[eclipsecrowned]

laerion has no tag but for some reason 'king of bones with a coral crown' feels so thematic --

[queen0fm0nsterz]

love when people read Seafarers like ... yes ....... i hope this version of Six and the Lady stays in your head forever... excellent...

[fictionadventurer]

Look, I'm probably never going to want to read the giant chunker of a Big Important Tragic Classic Book (with bonus whale facts!). But I'm always up for reading a 300-pages-or-less light fantasy novel on an intriguing Victorian-flavored world with sailing ships and big monsters and a compelling-yet-maddened-by-vengeance captain surrounded by a loveable crew faced with moral condundrums, all written by people who love the character dynamics and wish the story was less tragic. Plus, if I don't read the original, I don't have to get upset over how any of these retellings twist the story. It's worked really well so far!

[pieterhb]

The Fleet of Destruction - Oloff the Pirate Series #12 (Complete Story) (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/1470184687-the-fleet-of-destruction-oloff-the-pirate-series?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_reading&wp_uname=Pieterhb Gerrie Radlof is once again at his best with his Oloff the Pirate series, and this book number 12 in the series of 24 books is no exception. Amidst the vast oceans and treacherous shores of 17th-century South Africa, Oloff the Pirate unfolds a tale of loyalty, danger, and redemption. Oloff, a fiery and determined pirate captain, is on a mission to eradicate the notorious pirate haven of Deelen Bay. Despite his friends' concerns about possible treachery, Oloff seeks the help of Admiral Rynhardt te Hoogen, a former ally, and brother of Oloff's past love, Anna. As they navigate the shadows of their past, secrets, and unresolved emotions, the two men confront the ultimate challenge to destroy a fortress filled with the most ruthless pirates of the Indian Ocean.

[thedalatribune]

© Paolo Dala

Seafarers

One-fourth  (1/4) of all the seamen in the world are Filipinos because we are natural water people from the very beginning. That’s how we originated. We travelled through the seas...

If you go to the Philippines, you will find that any two (2) islands separated with water will speak the same language because we are connected by water and divided by mountains. Look at Negros. Negros is divided by Mt. Kanlaon. The side that faces Iloilo speaks Ilonggo, the side that faces Cebu faces Cebuano. Masbate. The one that faces Leyte [and] Samar speaks Waray, the one that faces Bicol speaks Bicolano... 

This is true anywhere in the country. If two (2) islands are separated by water, they are more unified. So, it’s not true that we are divided because we are an archipelago. In fact we are more united because of being an archipelago.

Prof. Felipe M. de Leon, Jr. The Filipino Story

[a-gremlin-for-my-thoughts]

After Captain Layl left and waiting until she was far away enough, Jen, Mirael and Wayn started furiosly whispering to eachother about possible plans of escape:

- We outnumber them, but they have weapons and, well, they are pretty big...

Started Jen, looking around: the guards where towering over every member of the crew, looking especially fierce. No, violence wasn't clearly the answer.

Mirael nodded, focused on a crewman who was coughing violently hunched over in a corner: he was just a heavy smoker, but this gave him an idea...

- Sir, we could try to fake an illness among the crew, that could make them leave us alone or at least dock the ship for a while: there we could escape more easily during the night!

- I coul try seducing the captain!

- What?!

Both men almost shouted in unison, looking incredulosly at Wayn, who was all giddy and smiling like a dolphin.

- I'm sorry, seducing her? Layl? What makes you think she even likes you??

- Have you seen the way she looks at me?

- Like she wants to squash you under her boot?

- Yeees

Looking at their feline expression, Jen decided to not ask further questions and tried to resume the topic, but was interrupted again:

- Right! You should try to win her favor with your rugged charm!

- What charm? Can you be serious for a moment?

Scoffed Jen, crossing his muscular arms over his broad, hairy chest. Wayn and Mirael looked at eachother knowingly, but didn't say anything.

[joncronshawauthor]

Magic on the High Seas: Exploring the Genre of Nautical Fantasy

Fancy yourself an adventure? A swashbuckling escape from terra firma into a world of monsters, pirates, and unsolved mysteries of the uncharted deep? Perhaps it’s time to dip your toes into the ocean of nautical fantasy novels, a genre that unites the thrill of the high seas with the enchantment of the fantastical. Whether it’s a towering ship cresting a colossal wave or a haunted seafarer…

[giftsfromthebarnandgarden]

This bottle, found in the basement, once belonged to a fierce and mighty pirate. Giant waves were battled in sturdy wooden ships with great white sails and brave and fearless men and women. During the storms, a drink was enjoyed out of this bottle, this bottle that held a pint or so of rum or jin, whichever was preferred at the moment.

Roaring waves constantly battled took a toll on the body, and often it was hard to relax without a good swig. Singing and chanting sea shanties were often coupled with holding a bottle like this in hand. And then a lighthouse was spotted on the horizon, and the grand and mighty shipwrecked along the coast... somewhere. The crewmen knew not where...

Except that the place they had found was lush with wildlife and greenery, resources abound. Some stayed on land, preferring it to the cold and hostile sea. They built houses and met wives or husbands or partners, made a life for themselves. Away from their sea legs. It took a bit to get used to the land that was so stable and non-moving. No waves felt under the feet, no water spraying in the hair and face. No sea monsters to fear.

Instead, new monsters unfamiliar to them lurked in the woods and the forests, watching them with piercing yellow or red eyes. Moose and bear were obvious but these beasts were truly mysterious and masterful at hiding in the shadows and rarely attacked.

The legends of the sea were frightful but the legends that were left undiscovered on land instilled new fears in the pirates who stayed. The pirates now lived in houses with families. A life of danger they thought they left behind on the sea instead followed them inland and waited, watching, from the depths of the trees.

https://gatapublishinghouse.com

[vinegarvapors]

The Ever-Pregnant Sea

I wrote a story about a man on a boat who is good at what he does, and the younger man who hasn't learned that yet. The sea really is terrifying.

Origin: Streamed writing on Twitch.Prompt: Six words: fisherman. shadow. bomber. bad. publish. ditch.Writing Time: 10-Minutes first draft. Further ten for editing and rewrites.Word Count: 385Notes: I know absolutely nothing about the sea and I imagine that it shows. The sea had a reputation as a harsh mistress and it was deserved. Everything said about her, and Leo had heard most of it by now,…

[floorontheroof]

Aright pals it's time; I've grinded out all alien treasures to 100% and now I can fight Awakened Bahamut

Here's the lineup (does anybody care about this part? I do), we have our meatshields: Mohawk (lvl. 30), Eraser (lvl. 34), Crazed Macho (lvl. 20), and Crazed Tank (lvl. 20); for our status babes we have Neo Psycho (lvl. 35) and Seafarer (lvl. 30); then for our damage dealers, I'm running Manic Macho Legs (lvl. 20), Fishman (lvl. 30), Crazed Dragon (lvl. 20), and finally: the most beautiful boy to have ever, Shingen (lvl. 29)

Alright starting out strong we killed the Celeboodles and all of the alien peons are dying swiftly

Oh and hes dead

Huh... beat it before the Alpacky came out

The man

[amanufacturedheaven]

Rare Language Learning: Polari

If you have ever used the words:

- Naff

- Butch

- Camp

You have unknowingly been speaking the sociolect known as Polari, the language of queer people primarily used in the 30s to the 70s. Polari is now an endangered language, as labelled by the University of Cambridge

Something of note: Many resources out there imply (or state) that Polari was a language invented and used solely by white cis gay men, which is decidedly untrue. Many words of Polari come from drag culture, lesbians, and the Romani people and their language. The use of ‘the language of British gay men’ may be a more palatable title to the general public, but it is not to me. I did my best to curate a variety of resources, but unfortunately much of queer history has been lost many more decades than I’ve been alive, if you have any other resources for studying Polari I would love to read them, message me or leave a link in the replies.

Articles

Learn Polari, the Secret Language of the Gays ⚢ Out Magazine

Polari: The code language gay men used to survive ⚢ BBC

Polari and the Hidden History of Gay Seafarers ⚢ National Museums Liverpool

The Story of Polari, Britain’s Secret Gay Language ⚢ Fabulosa!

Polari People ⚢ Fabulosa!

Polari: a language born from prejudice ⚢ Englishpanish

The secretive gay language that gave LGBTQ people a voice ⚢ GAYTIMES

A brief history of Polari: the curious after-life of the dead language for gay men ⚢ The Conversation

Study Material

The Polari Bible ⚢ Internet Archive

Fantabulosa: A Dictionary of Polari and Gay Slang ⚢ Internet Archive

Sociolinguistics / Polari ⚢ StudySmarter

FlashCards ⚢ Quizlet

New Polari Translator ⚢ LingoJam

Polari: A sociohistorical study of the life and decline of a secret language. ⚢ Dissertation, University of Manchester

Polari: a language born from prejudice ⚢ Englishpanish

Simon Bowkett: a short blog in Polari for LGBT+ History Month ⚢ Civil Service LGBT+ Network

[bunny584]

For I Have Sinned

“Let no one say when he is tempted, ‘I am being tempted by God’ For God cannot be tempted by evil.” James 1:13.

But Father Geto can be. 

Newly appointed Chaplain of the Noble Court, Suguru is a reformed sinner. Sanctity, discipline and celibacy are commandments of his choosing. A devout servant of the Lord. Armored with the Breastplate of Righteousness, the Shield of Faith. 

This should be sufficient enough to withstand temptation. 

Right? 

Pairing: Geto x Female reader 

C/W: Religious themes, dark romance, eventual filth. 18+. MDNI. 

A/N: Holy hell. Anon, you sick, twisted genius. You, the puppeteer. Me, the puppet who writes. This one — this story might be the one. Frothing at the mouth to know what you guys think. Going on AO3 for sure. I haven’t decided if I will keep this long fic series here, but since it was an anon ask its only right to honor them with the first chapter. 

Art credit: @ potchi_jpg on X

Music: Garden Kisses x Giveon (this was on a manic repeat for at least an hour. It wrote the chapter. I implore you to listen and levitate like I did).

CHAPTER I. Hello, Duchess.

Andesite. Dacite. Schist. 

Gorgeous. 

Suguru takes a mental note of the rock formations whizzing by just before he spears the Aegean Sea. Tailwind force trailing his feet in an elegant whirl.

Eh, mediocre landing. He’s out of practice. 

It’s true. Seminary did not allow for too much idle time in between biblical studies. Devil’s playground, and such. 

And it’s not in his nature to half-ass any life endeavor, whatever it may be. 

Suguru deftly levels out in the welcoming waves. Loose-limbed and fluid. Choosing to hover below her surface for a few moments longer. The tail end of his thick, singular French braid undulating behind him.

His body flows in tandem with the current. Swimming deep enough to scatter a pool of Fagri. He instinctively captures one in his large hand — not quite as out-of-touch as he thought. 

‘Make it to shore! If Poseidon calls, don’t answer Him, son!’

The gentle fisherman called out each time Suguru dove off their vessel. Still two or three, sometimes up to five miles from the coast, he’d plunge into the waters. Regardless of her mood, Suguru craved to be surrounded by her embrace. 

To be baptized by her tide. 

Showered with her salt of the earth. 

A dampened smile blooms across Suguru’s terse lips. Oxygen bubbles float about, from the muffled chuckle escaping him. 

His father’s voice rings between his ears. A little less clearly, nowadays. 

He always dove deeper than his fellow seafarers. Without the restraints of gear or protective equipment. Unnaturally comfortable in an element more labile than human nature. 

Suguru’s father mused about his Stormborn boy’s true lineage. 

‘Everyday, I prayed for you. Begged for you. And the God of the Ocean delivered a precious gift. Don’t return to His storms too soon.’

Fond memories, a little yellowed now. Callouses from those days have faded. 

Suguru is a different man. Born again. In a new country. With a new home, a new purpose. 

Even still, it’s comforting to know the world is 70% water, 30% land. And the Great Majority has always welcomed him with open arms.

No matter the iteration of his life, he’ll always find a home at Sea.

“Father Geto!”

What? 

Suguru begins his ascent. He is still by the cliff edge. Not nearly far enough for the Sirens to beckon. 

“Chaplain! Are you out there?”

Not even the saltwater penetrates his ears like this melody. 

An ethereal crescendo. With all the grace and beauty of a summer swan. Light enough to lull stoic men to a peaceful, permanent, slumber. 

More alluring. More disorienting than the songs at sea he’s heard and resisted. Potent enough to drown a warship. 

Who is calling for him?

Suguru chases the lethal sound. Careful pauses at each depth-level. To avoid returning to Poseidon’s storms too soon, as his father would say. 

“Father Geto!” 

Ahh, a voice he recognizes. His alter boy, Noel, at the peak.

Helios is kind, today. Because the Sun kisses Suguru as he breaks the surface. If the Ocean is his home, the Sun is certainly his lover. 

“What is it, Noel?” He calls in between strides to the volcanic edge.

“You have a visitor!” A tremble to Noel’s tone. Suguru cant help the low chuckle that leaves him.

Adolescents are always so anxious. Nervous about the most inconsequential, meaningless things. He was once the same. 

Who could be visiting? His schedule is supposed to be cleared today. 

Suguru laments leaving his clothing at the peak of the cliffside. Tossing a glance over his left shoulder - memories of his past life tattooed in various symbols. His back, covered in a sprawling trident. 

A permanent stain from the life he lived before this. It’s unbecoming of a priest to be seen this way. 

Latching onto the unforgiving rocky edges, Suguru scales the steep terrain in long steps and short holds. Serrated earth digs into his damp palms with each grasp.

He savors the pain. It’s familiar. An indication that he’s spent some time in the only other place he finds unfettered peace. 

“Noel, my schedule was cleared. Who could be—“

“Pardon my intrusion, Father Geto.” You seep into Suguru’s sentence, effectively answering his question. 

Music. 

Suguru nearly falls backward off the ledge he just set foot on.

Rumors about your beauty pollenated the compound for weeks. Anxiously anticipating your arrival. Hushed voices between maidens. Whispers within the walls of parlors. Bellowing gossip between court officials. 

All the words, all the speculations roll around Suguru’s skull. Louder than glass shattering in an empty room. 

They were wrong. 

Liars. 

Not even a tenth of the truth can be found in the frivolous ‘she’s a beauty’, ‘what a pretty face’ and comments of the like taking root in the compound. 

No, no. 

You were sculpted by every single Deity Suguru has ever studied.  

Because the One he has chosen to worship couldn’t have possibly crafted you alone. 

The good Lord is simply without the means.

Suguru will have to repent for that blasphemous thought later. 

…but God granted him eyesight, no? 

Eyes that can see underwater with the same clarity as a cloudless day. He trusts his eyes more than any part of his body. 

And they aren’t deceiving him. 

Flushed and turned away, Suguru takes a moment to soak you in, while patting himself dry. Maybe taking a little extra time to step into his khaki slacks and white button up. 

His wind pipe threatens to spasm with each sip of you he takes. 

Exquisite woman. 

You could convert a non believer in an instant. 

The gentle slope of your nose, those warmed soft, high cheeks deserve to be cherished in a museum. 

That dress. 

The tailor must’ve sewn it to your body in real time. Rolling hills and dips of your feminine curves. So quick to surrender to the ride your frame is taking him on. 

Suguru could fall to his knees and praise the Gods right here and now for their attention to detail. 

“Duchess? I’m embarrassed. Forgive my attire, I wasn’t expecting visitors today.”

Still damp but fully clothed, Suguru walks forward with a steady hand outstretched. Intentionally skipping eye contact with Noel, who would’ve interpreted the glance as anger. The boy is practically vibrating in his periphery. 

Concerned about possibly making a mistake, sure. But if Suguru were still a betting man, he’d bet your presence is driving Noel’s rattled nerves. 

“I’m the one who should be asking for forgiveness!” Unveiling your face to him with a gorgeous smile, you offer a delicate hand that drowns in his. 

Well.

To call it just a gorgeous smile makes him no better than the rumor mill and its grave underestimation. 

The air around him is sliced to a fraction of what it was. Suddenly gossamer thin and inadequate. 

You are breathtaking. 

“Please.” A deceptively even tone and casual wave of his hand. You wouldn’t know that words taste like sandpaper. 

“How can I serve you, Duchess?” 

“You do not have to address me as such, Father. I’m not wed, yet!”

Bunny lines along your nose deepen when you laugh. Heat scorches Suguru’s ears and you both are presently under shade. 

Do. Not. Covet.

“It’s all the same.” With a restrained smile, Suguru peels his eyes away from yours. 

Resting them on his rectory in the distance. He gestures his hands forward. Noel scrambles ahead of you two, undoubtedly to go tidy the chapel (that is already spotless). 

“You’re quite the swimmer.” 

You could assassinate him, you know. 

With that voice of yours. The way it stuns his senses. Far more dangerous now that it isn’t dampened by unrelenting waves. 

Suguru is a strong swimmer. He knows it. Noel knows it. The whole court knows it. Great Whites know it. 

So why is his spine unraveling at its seams when you say it? 

Why is his heart knocking against his sternum like it’s on the run from something? 

From someone, rather. 

“Mmm.” Suguru hums through closed lips. 

Unable to acknowledge the compliment with decorum. He opts for diversion instead. 

“Duchess, if I may. What prompted your visit to the chapel? How can I serve you?” 

The two of you take lazy strides along the cobblestone path. You ogle at a white rose bush that Suguru is particularly fond of. 

“I was touring the compound and noticed the garden surrounding the Church.” 

A distracted response, while nestling your nose in a pretty bloom. Sun rays fanning your face as if to showcase that you’re God’s favorite. A biblical example of how flowers should be enjoyed.

Is it just the roses? Or are you this beautiful no matter the plant?  

“Ahh. Come, then.” 

You’re being indulgent, Suguru. 

Maybe so. But the Chapel Grounds are his domain. The greenery lives and breathes under his fingertips. He adamantly refused a groundskeeper for the garden. Taking pride in nurturing its needy existence. 

Second only to his eyes, Suguru trusts his hands fully. They’re intelligent. Fast. Expansive. 

Definitive. Firm when the situation calls for it, yet gentle. Quick to learn. 

Attentive. 

He’s never gotten a shortage of compliments on his hands—

“Wisteria!” You torpedo through Suguru’s rapidly disintegrating spiral. And he couldn’t be more grateful. 

Regaining a shred of control, he leads you under the oak archway. Draped in curtains of Wisteria. The billowing lilac petals sway romantically in the sea breeze. 

Your lips hang open in a pretty, shocked ‘Oh.’ Eyes wide, gazing up at him in wonder. Adoration woven into those beautiful features slams hot and heavy into his lower abdomen. Remnant embers warming below his belt line. 

Suguru coughs to reset his over-sensitive senses. A futile gesture because you knock him right back down to his knees. 

“Oh, Father…..please?” A soft plea rolls through the slit in your lips. Pulling his eyes down to your pout.

Fuck. 

The rock formation Suguru took note of earlier suddenly materializes in his throat. You coated his honorific in a new tone. Breathy and desperate. As if he is the only person who could satisfy your needs. 

His skin is half a degree away from melting clear off his skeleton under those big, warm eyes of yours. 

“Specify your request, Duchess.”

Both hands jam into his pockets so he can dig his nails into his thighs unnoticed. The searing pain tethering him to this dimension. 

A deep rose blooms over your cheeks. Realizing you hadn’t actually asked him a question before begging. 

So, prettily. 

“May I please tend to your garden? It’s…I’m far from home and gardening brings me so much joy. Please, Father Geto—“

“Yes.” 

His agreement comes well before Suguru is ready. Or, thought it through. 

Should a noble woman be seen doing tasks as menial as gardening? 

Should you be seen without your fiancée on his grounds? 

What will you look like? 

Kneeling over a bed of sunflowers? 

Kneading the soil with your delicate, small hands—

“How can I thank you?” Your lips curl into an intoxicating smile. And Suguru no longer has the capacity to be in your presence. 

“No need, stay as long as you like. I have to take my leave.”

Suguru offers a curt wave and terse smile before spinning on his heel. Leaving you, a work of art, beneath the masterpiece that is his arc of wisteria. 

He barrels down the Chapel corridors at light speed. The pews, confessional, meeting rooms whirl by his periphery in a drunken haze.

Cold water. Cold water. 

The wooden bathroom door creaks and wails beneath his harsh touch. Suguru fumbles with the two-level lock.

He nearly strips down naked. The fire incinerating him from within is unbearable. If there were scissors within grasp he would’ve cut his braid completely off. Because even the familiar sway of his waist length mane along his back is too much. 

You are too much.

Suguru’s fingers unravel his braid and reposition his locks into a tight bun. Off the damp skin along his neck. 

‘Father….please?’

Your voice echoes from Suguru’s incapacitated brain down to his drooling cock. Icy water splashes against face. 

Suguru’s length has been weeping since you first revealed your face to him. Twitching and thrashing with every single word that came out of that pretty, sinful mouth. He’s never been so grateful that today he chose to swim with compression gear, rather than his usual bared skin. 

Are you doing this on purpose?

Wide eyed and demure. But with a voice more beautiful than any siren that has tried to lure him to his watery grave. 

Is this a test?

Suguru’s fingers desperately grasp the golden cross around his neck. Digging the symbol into his palm. 

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners…” He starts. Ignited, smoldering violet eyes staring back at him are unrecognizable. 

They are not of God. 

They are dark. 

Lust filled. 

“Now. And…and at the hour of our death.” Words slip through his gritted teeth. His other hand grips the sink edge. 

‘May I please tend to your Garden?’

“God. Please.” Suguru is the one pleading. To anyone above.

For self-control. For reprieve from the shape of your lips when you beg. His cock bucks against his inner thigh. Demanding attention to the ache between his legs. 

Are you Eve? 

Have you come to destroy his Eden?

Your delectable mounds barely hidden beneath that fucking dress as the Apple?

“Holy…Holy Mary, Mother of God…pray for us sinners.” His vice grip around the cross tightens. Babbling words he hopes can provide him with some restraint, some clarity.

They don’t.

Because his other hand now hovers over the pulsating bulge in his slacks. His manhood starved. Especially having been deprived of touch. Of warmth for longer than Suguru remembers.

“Holy…Mary…fuck.” Blasphemy rolling off his tongue. 

Scorching heat radiating from his hovering palm pierces his clothing. Encasing his cock like a warmed blanket. Enticing him like the soft sex of a woman. Every single muscle is under wire tension. Forcing space between his need and his hand. 

His hands. Don’t forsake him now. He trusts his hands. 

“Father Geto? Are you alright?” Noel’s call from the other side of the door startles Suguru still.

“I’m—“ Suguru clears his dry throat “I’m alright, Noel. What do you need?”

“I saw you run in here and—“

“I’m okay.” Suguru replies, more softly this time. The boy is almost too tender-hearted for his own good.

He doesn’t miss the small sigh of relief. 

“I left your updated schedule on your desk.” 

“And what would I do without you?”

Suguru can almost hear Noel smiling across the barrier. Gleefully padding away. Completely unaware that his presence was the saving grace from disgracing himself. 

Another splash of cold water on his face and multiple deep breaths later, Suguru finally gains enough composure to emerge. 

Curious about the updates to his schedule, he strides to his office. A leather folder awaits with his itinerary.

Saturday: 0800 - 1000- Youth lecture 

Saturday: 1800 - 2000 - Evening mass

Sunday: 0700 - 0900 - Morning mass

Sunday: 1300 - 1400 - Pre-Marital Counseling [CONFIDENTIAL] 

“High court, then.” Suguru muses to himself. Pulling out the envelope with a matching demarcation. Meant for his eyes only. Should the seal be broken en route to the recipient the offender could be sentenced to death for treason. 

And at this moment, Suguru finds that fate less painful than the spear currently piercing his lungs.

His eyes burn into the names written at the bottom of the page.

The Duke Ahriman  & The Duchess-to-Be.

Chapter II

E/N: Hello from [redacted]. I am literally losing my shite. I’m already in love with the plot before it has even fully materialized. And prince-of-the-sea-Suguru? This headcannon has me in a chokehold I fear. Thank you for reading 💋