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clover11-10: breezeinmonochromenight: star-linedsoul: razzleberryjam: ironwoman359: chaos-in-the-making: smugkoalas: allthefandomss: that-catholic-shinobi: gahdamnpunk: American Girl stories were the best tbh Dude, read the books, she and her mom freed themselves in Book 1. We don’t disrespect American Girl in this house Don’t you dare disrespect Addy, or any of my girls for that matter. American Girl used to be legit. Good stories, good dolls, good movies. Felicity’s story was set in the beginnings of the American Revolution, and addressed the conflict that she faced when her loved ones were split between patriots and loyalists. It also covered the effects of animal abuse, and forgiving those who are unforgivable. Samantha’s stories centered around the growth of industrial America, women’s suffrage, child abuse, and corruption in places of power. Also, it emphasises how dramatically adoption into a caring family can turn a life around. Kit’s story is one of my favorites. Her family is hit hard by the Great Depression, and they begin taking in boarders and raise chickens to help make ends meet. Her books include themes of poverty, police brutality, homelessness, prejudice, and the importance of unity in difficult times. Molly’s father, a doctor, is drafted during the Second World War. Throughout her story, friends of hers suffer the loss of their husbands, sons, and brothers overseas. Her mother leaves the traditional housewife position and works full-time to help with the war effort. They also take in an English refugee child, who learns to open up after a life of traumatic experience. American Girl stories have always featured the very harsh realities of America through the years. But they’re always presented honestly, yet in ways that kids can understand. They just go to show that you don’t have to live in a perfect time to be a real American girl. Dont you fucking dare disrespect the American Girls in my house. ESPECIALLY Addy!! That was my first REAL contact with the horrors of slavery, as I read about her father being whipped and sold and her mother escaping with her to freedom, but also how freedom was still a struggle. A slave doll. Please. Read the books. Don’t forget Kirsten, the Swedish immigrant who had to deal with balancing her own culture and learning the english language and customs of her classmates, or Kaya (full name Kaya'aton'my, or She Who Arranges Rocks) , the brave but careless girl from the Nez Perce tribe, or Josefina, the Mexican girl learning to be a healer. And then there are the later dolls, that kids younger than me would have grown up with (I was just outgrowing American Girl as these came out), like Rebecca, the Jewish girl who dreams of becoming an actress in the budding film industry, or  Julie, who fights against her school’s gender policy surrounding sports in the 70s, or  Nanea, the Hawaiian girl whose father worked at Pearl Harbor. These books, these characters, are fantastic pictures into life for girls in America throughout the years, they pull no punches with the horrors that these girls had to face in their different time periods, and in many cases I learned more history from these series than social studies at school. And that’s without even mentioning the “girl of the year” series where characters are created in the modern world to help girls deal with issues like friend problems, moving, or bullying. We do NOT disrespect American Girl in this house. American Girl is probably going to be the only exposure young girls are going to get to history from a female perspective. This is actually kind of important considering that in history classes we dont really get that exposure. We dont hear about what women felt and endured during these time periods cause schools are too busy teaching us about what happened from the male perspective, which is not unimportant, but we need both. Girls need both. These books were such a crucial part of my childhood and shaped my love of history, which still ensures today. These books can be a young girl’s first lessons in diversity and cultural awareness (hopefully burying that insensitive “we’re all Americans” tripe) and looking at history from more perspectives than just that taught in school. They also are an example of how women have ALWAYS been part of history, which some people would rather us not believe. I think Kit and Kaya were the newest American Girls when I started “aging out” of the books, but hearing about some of these kinda makes me want to revisit them! I wasn’t gonna say anything, but you know what? Nah. OP (of the tweet thread) was either a actively trying to start shit or is just a huge fucking moron. Probably both. I’d like to point out that the company that makes American Girl dolls actually doesn’t skimp when doing their research and they don’t make the dolls with the intent to be offensive in any way: I loved American Girl growing up they’re great role models and history lessons so yeah let’s not cancel this for ignorant reasons : clover11-10: breezeinmonochromenight: star-linedsoul: razzleberryjam: ironwoman359: chaos-in-the-making: smugkoalas: allthefandomss: that-catholic-shinobi: gahdamnpunk: American Girl stories were the best tbh Dude, read the books, she and her mom freed themselves in Book 1. We don’t disrespect American Girl in this house Don’t you dare disrespect Addy, or any of my girls for that matter. American Girl used to be legit. Good stories, good dolls, good movies. Felicity’s story was set in the beginnings of the American Revolution, and addressed the conflict that she faced when her loved ones were split between patriots and loyalists. It also covered the effects of animal abuse, and forgiving those who are unforgivable. Samantha’s stories centered around the growth of industrial America, women’s suffrage, child abuse, and corruption in places of power. Also, it emphasises how dramatically adoption into a caring family can turn a life around. Kit’s story is one of my favorites. Her family is hit hard by the Great Depression, and they begin taking in boarders and raise chickens to help make ends meet. Her books include themes of poverty, police brutality, homelessness, prejudice, and the importance of unity in difficult times. Molly’s father, a doctor, is drafted during the Second World War. Throughout her story, friends of hers suffer the loss of their husbands, sons, and brothers overseas. Her mother leaves the traditional housewife position and works full-time to help with the war effort. They also take in an English refugee child, who learns to open up after a life of traumatic experience. American Girl stories have always featured the very harsh realities of America through the years. But they’re always presented honestly, yet in ways that kids can understand. They just go to show that you don’t have to live in a perfect time to be a real American girl. Dont you fucking dare disrespect the American Girls in my house. ESPECIALLY Addy!! That was my first REAL contact with the horrors of slavery, as I read about her father being whipped and sold and her mother escaping with her to freedom, but also how freedom was still a struggle. A slave doll. Please. Read the books. Don’t forget Kirsten, the Swedish immigrant who had to deal with balancing her own culture and learning the english language and customs of her classmates, or Kaya (full name Kaya'aton'my, or She Who Arranges Rocks) , the brave but careless girl from the Nez Perce tribe, or Josefina, the Mexican girl learning to be a healer. And then there are the later dolls, that kids younger than me would have grown up with (I was just outgrowing American Girl as these came out), like Rebecca, the Jewish girl who dreams of becoming an actress in the budding film industry, or  Julie, who fights against her school’s gender policy surrounding sports in the 70s, or  Nanea, the Hawaiian girl whose father worked at Pearl Harbor. These books, these characters, are fantastic pictures into life for girls in America throughout the years, they pull no punches with the horrors that these girls had to face in their different time periods, and in many cases I learned more history from these series than social studies at school. And that’s without even mentioning the “girl of the year” series where characters are created in the modern world to help girls deal with issues like friend problems, moving, or bullying. We do NOT disrespect American Girl in this house. American Girl is probably going to be the only exposure young girls are going to get to history from a female perspective. This is actually kind of important considering that in history classes we dont really get that exposure. We dont hear about what women felt and endured during these time periods cause schools are too busy teaching us about what happened from the male perspective, which is not unimportant, but we need both. Girls need both. These books were such a crucial part of my childhood and shaped my love of history, which still ensures today. These books can be a young girl’s first lessons in diversity and cultural awareness (hopefully burying that insensitive “we’re all Americans” tripe) and looking at history from more perspectives than just that taught in school. They also are an example of how women have ALWAYS been part of history, which some people would rather us not believe. I think Kit and Kaya were the newest American Girls when I started “aging out” of the books, but hearing about some of these kinda makes me want to revisit them! I wasn’t gonna say anything, but you know what? Nah. OP (of the tweet thread) was either a actively trying to start shit or is just a huge fucking moron. Probably both. I’d like to point out that the company that makes American Girl dolls actually doesn’t skimp when doing their research and they don’t make the dolls with the intent to be offensive in any way: I loved American Girl growing up they’re great role models and history lessons so yeah let’s not cancel this for ignorant reasons
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feedmecookiesnow: not-the-blue: @fandomforoz art for @letsallsleepoverwork, who came up with the absolutely adorable idea of the hawkeyes braiding Bucky’s hair and painting his nails! thank you!!  I thought this was cute so I wrote a story for it. ** Practice on Me New York in August, Bucky thinks, is a special kind of hell. He’s laying on the floor of his apartment with the shades all drawn and a fan blasting directly on him. He’s wearing nothing but his boxers. His entire body is pressed to the cool hardwood of the floor. There’s a cold washcloth over his forehead. An iced water sitting next to him. And yet none of it is making a dent in the heat. It’s thick. It’s awful. It’s like breathing soup. “Definitely hell,” he says to the dark room. “One-hundred percent, Grade A, whole wheat hell.” His phone rings. Bucky cracks an eye open, then gropes around on the floor for it until he can stab at it. “What?” Clint’s voice echoes through the speaker. “Oooh, you sound angry. What’s wrong?” “I’m hot,” Bucky says. “My air conditioning is broke, and the guy can’t fix it until Friday.” “Oh god.” Clint sounds horrified. “That’s the worst thing I’ve heard today.” He pauses, and then says, “Well, second worst. My favorite taco guy was out of the spicy guacamole. I had to settle for regular.” “It must be hard being you,” Bucky says dryly, and Clint laughs. “Anyway. What do you want?” “I was going to ask if I could come over,” Clint says. “But I think now it would be better if you came to my place instead.” Keep reading : feedmecookiesnow: not-the-blue: @fandomforoz art for @letsallsleepoverwork, who came up with the absolutely adorable idea of the hawkeyes braiding Bucky’s hair and painting his nails! thank you!!  I thought this was cute so I wrote a story for it. ** Practice on Me New York in August, Bucky thinks, is a special kind of hell. He’s laying on the floor of his apartment with the shades all drawn and a fan blasting directly on him. He’s wearing nothing but his boxers. His entire body is pressed to the cool hardwood of the floor. There’s a cold washcloth over his forehead. An iced water sitting next to him. And yet none of it is making a dent in the heat. It’s thick. It’s awful. It’s like breathing soup. “Definitely hell,” he says to the dark room. “One-hundred percent, Grade A, whole wheat hell.” His phone rings. Bucky cracks an eye open, then gropes around on the floor for it until he can stab at it. “What?” Clint’s voice echoes through the speaker. “Oooh, you sound angry. What’s wrong?” “I’m hot,” Bucky says. “My air conditioning is broke, and the guy can’t fix it until Friday.” “Oh god.” Clint sounds horrified. “That’s the worst thing I’ve heard today.” He pauses, and then says, “Well, second worst. My favorite taco guy was out of the spicy guacamole. I had to settle for regular.” “It must be hard being you,” Bucky says dryly, and Clint laughs. “Anyway. What do you want?” “I was going to ask if I could come over,” Clint says. “But I think now it would be better if you came to my place instead.” Keep reading

feedmecookiesnow: not-the-blue: @fandomforoz art for @letsallsleepoverwork, who came up with the absolutely adorable idea of the hawkeyes...

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heccinmemes: fmlcomic: yoshdawgydog: positive-memes: Native Americans Sent Ireland $170 as 1845 Famine Aid, Now Ireland Has Given Back With $3.1 Million Coronavirus Fund story here Im crying, not all ppl are trash The Irish remember that when the Native American’s had almost nothing, they sent what they could to the Irish.  While the English were content to let the Irish die, and the US Government was forcing Native American’s off their traditional lands and had just forced an entire Native American Nation to walk halfway across North America, Native American’s reached out to help the Irish. The Irish Remember. And the Irish are reaching back to help the people who helped them. hi this is wholesome i’m happy now: heccinmemes: fmlcomic: yoshdawgydog: positive-memes: Native Americans Sent Ireland $170 as 1845 Famine Aid, Now Ireland Has Given Back With $3.1 Million Coronavirus Fund story here Im crying, not all ppl are trash The Irish remember that when the Native American’s had almost nothing, they sent what they could to the Irish.  While the English were content to let the Irish die, and the US Government was forcing Native American’s off their traditional lands and had just forced an entire Native American Nation to walk halfway across North America, Native American’s reached out to help the Irish. The Irish Remember. And the Irish are reaching back to help the people who helped them. hi this is wholesome i’m happy now

heccinmemes: fmlcomic: yoshdawgydog: positive-memes: Native Americans Sent Ireland $170 as 1845 Famine Aid, Now Ireland Has Given...

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clockworkrobotic: bigancestorenergy: ouma-anti: whatjordylikes: danielle-mertina: blackqueerblog: Some parents really don’t understand the difference between actual discipline and hurting your kids. This teaches a kid nothing except needing to hide what makes them happy because they’re scared their parents will destroy it. Wow…what a terrible parent. Minecraft is A LOT of work, diligence, and creativity. The parent should have been encouraging that. And why does a 9 year old need to wake up every day at 7 am during a pandemic? What’s wrong with this person? I can foresee an estranged relationship in the future. Because this parent is out of their minds and more interested in exacting punitive control than being a loving caregiver. Y'all wonder why some kids are the way they are? This is it. why on earth does a NINE YEAR OLD CHILD has to wake up at fucking 7 am during a pandemic? also children may require up to TWELVE HOURS of sleep he’s not being defiant—without the threat of a ridiculous and unnatural hour he MUST be awake at he’s actually following his natural circadian rhythm which is actually HEALTHIER for him what they’ve done is broken his trust in a MAJOR way. he does not feel safe or in control. which is why he is refusing meals. honestly? if they keep this behavior up—let alone just not apologizing and finding the save file for his game—he’s gonna develop some dangerous coping skills like yknow. An eating disorder. Dissociation. Self harm. I’m not being hyperbolic. this is literally how it starts. This is the second time this week I’ve seen a story like this (the first being the boyfriend destroying his girlfriend’s AC island over an argument) and it makes me think – how is this ANY different to someone destroying a physical piece of art someone’s made: ripping up their sketchbook, breaking ceramics, cutting up cosplays? If this person had come forward with a question like “my son wouldn’t get out of bed so I broke the birdbox he made” there wouldn’t be ANY question whether this was abusive behaviour. There’s an inherent disconnect with how we talk about the “value” of virtual items/creations in video games: something about the way that these things aren’t tangible in the conventional sense makes them somehow less valuable than something everyone can hold and observe and appreciate. Think about the amount of “funny gamer rage” videos out there that are people upset over losing WoW saves and the likes: game saves are often things people have put hundreds of hours into, they have value to that person and are representative of their own dedication. Hell, I’m really bummed at the moment over not having access to some of my BL2 saves (I can’t travel to get my PS4 from uni), and I know I’d be upset if I lost them forever.  Video games are a massive escape mechanism for a lot of people especially right now, and putting time and effort into particularly building games is a constructive and creative outlet that gives people a feeling of accomplishment (and let’s be real it’s a lot more practical than having a house full of lego). Yet there’s still this weird stigma attached to them, this “it’s just a game” mentality that leads people to be easily dismissive of others’ feelings over losing progress. Destroyed your girlfriend’s AC island, which she put hundreds of hours into building? Whatever, it’s just a game. Deleted your kid’s minecraft file, which he spent an entire year working on? Whatever, it’s just a game, why are you so mad? It’s not a real thing, it’s just some numbers hiding behind fancy computer graphics! Actions like this are intentional, targeted destruction of another person’s property - property they have created themselves -  by an adult who knew what they were doing and we should NOT treat them as anything other than that, regardless of medium. : clockworkrobotic: bigancestorenergy: ouma-anti: whatjordylikes: danielle-mertina: blackqueerblog: Some parents really don’t understand the difference between actual discipline and hurting your kids. This teaches a kid nothing except needing to hide what makes them happy because they’re scared their parents will destroy it. Wow…what a terrible parent. Minecraft is A LOT of work, diligence, and creativity. The parent should have been encouraging that. And why does a 9 year old need to wake up every day at 7 am during a pandemic? What’s wrong with this person? I can foresee an estranged relationship in the future. Because this parent is out of their minds and more interested in exacting punitive control than being a loving caregiver. Y'all wonder why some kids are the way they are? This is it. why on earth does a NINE YEAR OLD CHILD has to wake up at fucking 7 am during a pandemic? also children may require up to TWELVE HOURS of sleep he’s not being defiant—without the threat of a ridiculous and unnatural hour he MUST be awake at he’s actually following his natural circadian rhythm which is actually HEALTHIER for him what they’ve done is broken his trust in a MAJOR way. he does not feel safe or in control. which is why he is refusing meals. honestly? if they keep this behavior up—let alone just not apologizing and finding the save file for his game—he’s gonna develop some dangerous coping skills like yknow. An eating disorder. Dissociation. Self harm. I’m not being hyperbolic. this is literally how it starts. This is the second time this week I’ve seen a story like this (the first being the boyfriend destroying his girlfriend’s AC island over an argument) and it makes me think – how is this ANY different to someone destroying a physical piece of art someone’s made: ripping up their sketchbook, breaking ceramics, cutting up cosplays? If this person had come forward with a question like “my son wouldn’t get out of bed so I broke the birdbox he made” there wouldn’t be ANY question whether this was abusive behaviour. There’s an inherent disconnect with how we talk about the “value” of virtual items/creations in video games: something about the way that these things aren’t tangible in the conventional sense makes them somehow less valuable than something everyone can hold and observe and appreciate. Think about the amount of “funny gamer rage” videos out there that are people upset over losing WoW saves and the likes: game saves are often things people have put hundreds of hours into, they have value to that person and are representative of their own dedication. Hell, I’m really bummed at the moment over not having access to some of my BL2 saves (I can’t travel to get my PS4 from uni), and I know I’d be upset if I lost them forever.  Video games are a massive escape mechanism for a lot of people especially right now, and putting time and effort into particularly building games is a constructive and creative outlet that gives people a feeling of accomplishment (and let’s be real it’s a lot more practical than having a house full of lego). Yet there’s still this weird stigma attached to them, this “it’s just a game” mentality that leads people to be easily dismissive of others’ feelings over losing progress. Destroyed your girlfriend’s AC island, which she put hundreds of hours into building? Whatever, it’s just a game. Deleted your kid’s minecraft file, which he spent an entire year working on? Whatever, it’s just a game, why are you so mad? It’s not a real thing, it’s just some numbers hiding behind fancy computer graphics! Actions like this are intentional, targeted destruction of another person’s property - property they have created themselves -  by an adult who knew what they were doing and we should NOT treat them as anything other than that, regardless of medium.
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priscilladyke: witchesversuspatriarchy: Thought this could fit in well here Ok I don’t mean to be doing this too often but I literally just wrote a paper about this so I thought I would comment! The English translation is The Cursed Woman but the original French is La Femme Damnée. “Femmes Damnées” was the title of a Baudelaire poem from his acclaimed 1857 book Fleurs du mal, which was known, among other things, to be a collection that famously dealt with the subject of lesbians. The poem tells the story of the desires and passionate love between two lesbians: Delphine and Hippolyte. As a result of this poem and of the book as a whole, the terms “fleurs du mal” and “femme damnée” became lesbian monikers of the turn of the century. Though some have deemed the term “damned women” to be accusatory of some moral dissonance, the poem it is derived from is actually quite sympathetic to the condition of lesbian love as it is a love which is unable to fully flourish in that time. Regardless, the translated title of Tassaert’s painting is misleading, as the original French is less accusatory and more identifying. The title is more accurately “the lesbian.” : priscilladyke: witchesversuspatriarchy: Thought this could fit in well here Ok I don’t mean to be doing this too often but I literally just wrote a paper about this so I thought I would comment! The English translation is The Cursed Woman but the original French is La Femme Damnée. “Femmes Damnées” was the title of a Baudelaire poem from his acclaimed 1857 book Fleurs du mal, which was known, among other things, to be a collection that famously dealt with the subject of lesbians. The poem tells the story of the desires and passionate love between two lesbians: Delphine and Hippolyte. As a result of this poem and of the book as a whole, the terms “fleurs du mal” and “femme damnée” became lesbian monikers of the turn of the century. Though some have deemed the term “damned women” to be accusatory of some moral dissonance, the poem it is derived from is actually quite sympathetic to the condition of lesbian love as it is a love which is unable to fully flourish in that time. Regardless, the translated title of Tassaert’s painting is misleading, as the original French is less accusatory and more identifying. The title is more accurately “the lesbian.”
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unbossed: blackourstory: afro-dominicano: rtamerica: Dozens of police departments suspended for losing US military-grade weaponry Close to 200 state and local police departments in the United States have been suspended for losing military-level equipment transferred to them by the Pentagon, a new investigation found. According to the media outlet Fusion, its independent investigation into the Pentagon’s “1033 program,” which equips state and local police departments across the US with excess military equipment, turned up an alarming trend: Not only did many law enforcement agencies fail to comply with the program’s guidelines, they routinely lost dangerous weaponry. Already, the investigation has found that police departments in Arizona, California, Mississippi, Missouri, Georgia, and others have lost or cannot account for various types of weapons. This list includes M14 and M16 assault rifles, .45-caliber pistols, shotguns, and even vehicles. “they routinely lost dangerous weaponry” that is very fucking alarming, who the hell are they being lost to? the same white supremacists bastards killing every one?? How much do you wanna bet they “lo$t them” to white supremacist friends and groups? ^^^^^ : unbossed: blackourstory: afro-dominicano: rtamerica: Dozens of police departments suspended for losing US military-grade weaponry Close to 200 state and local police departments in the United States have been suspended for losing military-level equipment transferred to them by the Pentagon, a new investigation found. According to the media outlet Fusion, its independent investigation into the Pentagon’s “1033 program,” which equips state and local police departments across the US with excess military equipment, turned up an alarming trend: Not only did many law enforcement agencies fail to comply with the program’s guidelines, they routinely lost dangerous weaponry. Already, the investigation has found that police departments in Arizona, California, Mississippi, Missouri, Georgia, and others have lost or cannot account for various types of weapons. This list includes M14 and M16 assault rifles, .45-caliber pistols, shotguns, and even vehicles. “they routinely lost dangerous weaponry” that is very fucking alarming, who the hell are they being lost to? the same white supremacists bastards killing every one?? How much do you wanna bet they “lo$t them” to white supremacist friends and groups? ^^^^^
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cereusblue: unnameablethings: dragonsateyourtoast: redporkpadthai: dragonsateyourtoast: otherwindow: otherwindow: This is how the golden age of piracy ended. The first mermaid to get tattoos :) “we didn’t know any better,” the crewman says, and swallows, presenting the chest to the captain. “what do we do now?” “kill it,” the captain says, but the ice is melting in his eyes. “we can’t,” the first mate says desperately, praying she won’t have to fight her captain on this. “we can’t. we - i won’t. we won’t.” “i know.” x “daddy,” she says, floating in a tub of seawater in the hold, “daddy, la-la, la-la-la.” her voice rings like bells. her accent is strange; her mouth isn’t made for human words. it mesmerises even the hardiest amongst them and she wasn’t even trying. the crew has taken to diving for shellfish near the shorelines for her; she loves them, splitting the shells apart with strength seen in no human toddler, slurping down the slimy molluscs inside and laughing, all plump brown cheeks and needle-sharp teeth. she sometimes splashes them for fun with her smooth, rubbery brown tail. even when they get soaked they laugh. they love her. “daddy,” she calls again, and he can hear the worry in her voice. the storm rocking the ship is harsh and uncaring, and if they go down, she would be the only survivor. “don’t worry,” he says, and goes over, sitting next to the tub. the first mate, leaning against the wall, pretends not to notice as he quietly begins to sing. x “father,” she says, one day, as she leans on the edge of the dock and the captain sits next to her, “why am I here?” “your mother abandoned you,” he says, as he always has. “we found you adrift, and couldn’t bear to leave you there.” she picks at the salt-soaked boards, uncertain. her hair is pulled back in a fluffy black puff, the white linen holding it slipping almost over one of her dark eyes. one of her first tattoos, a many-limbed kraken, curls over her right shoulder and down her arm, delicate tendrils wrapped around her calloused fingertips. “alright,” she says. x “why am I really here?” she asks the first mate, watching the sun set over the water in streaks of liquid metal that pooled in the troughs of the waves and glittered on the seafoam. “we didn’t know any better,” the first mate says, staring into the water. “we didn’t know- we didn’t know anything. we didn’t understand why she fought so viciously to guard her treasure. we could not know she protected something a thousand times more precious than the purest gold.” she wants to be furious, but she can’t. she already knew the answer, from reading the guilt in her father’s eyes and the empty space in her own history. and she can’t hate her family. “it’s alright,” she says. “i do have a family, anyways. i don’t think i would have liked my other life near as much.” x her kraken grows, spreading its tendrils over her torso and arms. she grows too, too large to come on board the ship without being hauled up in a boat from the water. she sings when the storms come and swims before the ship to guide it to safety. she fights off more than one beast of the seas, and gathers a set of scars across her back that she bears with pride. “i don’t mind,” she says, when the captain fusses over her, “now i match all of you.” the first time their ship is threatened, really threatened, is by another fleet. a friend turned enemy of the first mate. “we shouldn’t fight him,” she says, peering through the spyglass. “why not?” the mermaid asks. “he’ll win,” the first mate says. the mermaid tips her head sideways. Her eyes, dark as the deep waters, gleam in the noon light. “are you sure?” she asks. x the enemy fleet surrenders after the flagship is sunk in the night, the anchor ripped off the ship and the planks torn off the hull. the surviving crew, wild-eyed and delirious, whimper and say a sea serpent came from the water and attacked them, say it was longer than the boat and crushed it in its coils. the first mate hears this and has to hide her laughter. the captain apologizes to his daughter for doubting her. “don’t worry,” she says, with a bright laugh, “it was fun.” x the second time, they are pushed by a storm into a royal fleet. they can’t possibly fight them, and they don’t have the time to escape. “let me up,” the mermaid urges, surfacing starboard and shouting to the crew. “bring me up, quickly, quickly.” they lower the boat and she piles her sinous form into it, and uses her claws to help the crew pull her up. once on the deck she flops out of the boat and makes her way over to the bow. the crew tries to help but she’s so heavy they can barely lift parts of her. she crawls up out in front of the rail and wraps her long webbed tail around the prow. the figurehead has served them well so far but they need more right now. she wraps herself around the figurehead and raises her body up into the wind takes a breath of the stinging salt air and sings. the storm carries her voice on its front to the royal navy. they are enchanted, so stunned by her song that they drop the rigging ropes and let the tillers drift. the pirates sail through the center of the fleet, trailing the storm behind them, and by the time the fleet has managed to regain its senses they are buried in wind and rain and the pirates are gone. x she declines guns. instead she carries a harpoon and its launcher, and uses them to board enemy ships, hauling her massive form out of the water to coil on the deck and dispatch enemies with ruthless efficiency. her family is feared across all the sea. x “you know we are dying,” the captain says, looking down at her. she floats next to the ship, so massive she could hold it in her arms. her eyes are wise. “i know,” she says, “i can feel it coming.” the first mate stands next to the captain. she never had a lover or a child, and neither did he, but to the mermaid they are her parents. she will always love her daughter. the tattoos are graven in dark swirls across the mermaid’s deep brown skin and the flesh of her tail, even spiraling onto the spiked webbing on her spine and face. her hair is still tied back, this time with a sail that could not be patched one last time. “we love you,” the first mate says simply, looking down. her own tightly coiled black hair falls in to her face; she shakes the locs out of the way and smiles through her tears. the captain pretends he isnt crying either. “i love you too,” the mermaid says, and reached up to pull the ship down just a bit, just to hold them one last time. “guard the ship,” the captain says. “you always have but you know they’re lost without you.” “without you,” the mermaid corrects, with a shrug that makes waves. “what will we do?” “i don’t know,” the captain says. “but you’ll help them, won’t you?” “of course i will,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes. “i will always protect my family.” x the captain and the first mate are gone. the ship has a new captain, young and fearless - of the things she can afford to disregard. she fears and loves the ocean, as all captains do. she does not fear the royal fleet. and she does not fear the mermaid. “you know, i heard stories about you when i was a little girl,” she says, trailing her fingers in the water next to the dock. the mermaid stares at her with one eye the size of a dinner table. “is that so?” she hums, smirking with teeth sharper than the swords of the entire navy. “they said you could sink an entire fleet and that you had skin tougher than dragon scales,” the new captain says, grinning right back at the monster who could eat her without a moment’s hesitation. “i always thought they were telling tall tales.” “and now?” “they were right,” the new captain says. “how did they ever befriend you?” the mermaid smiles, fully this time, her dark eyes gleaming under the white linen sail. “they didn’t know any better.” She protects her family. Hi everybody! Guess what’s being posted on AO3 now at the following link! https://archiveofourown.org/works/22498384/chapters/53760817 That’s right! Here you go. I’ll be uploading it in some chunks, because I want to make sure I have everything I wanted edited cleanly finished, but follow the story there! HEY GUYS GUESS WHATS BACK ON THE DASHBOARD AND BETTER THAN EVER : cereusblue: unnameablethings: dragonsateyourtoast: redporkpadthai: dragonsateyourtoast: otherwindow: otherwindow: This is how the golden age of piracy ended. The first mermaid to get tattoos :) “we didn’t know any better,” the crewman says, and swallows, presenting the chest to the captain. “what do we do now?” “kill it,” the captain says, but the ice is melting in his eyes. “we can’t,” the first mate says desperately, praying she won’t have to fight her captain on this. “we can’t. we - i won’t. we won’t.” “i know.” x “daddy,” she says, floating in a tub of seawater in the hold, “daddy, la-la, la-la-la.” her voice rings like bells. her accent is strange; her mouth isn’t made for human words. it mesmerises even the hardiest amongst them and she wasn’t even trying. the crew has taken to diving for shellfish near the shorelines for her; she loves them, splitting the shells apart with strength seen in no human toddler, slurping down the slimy molluscs inside and laughing, all plump brown cheeks and needle-sharp teeth. she sometimes splashes them for fun with her smooth, rubbery brown tail. even when they get soaked they laugh. they love her. “daddy,” she calls again, and he can hear the worry in her voice. the storm rocking the ship is harsh and uncaring, and if they go down, she would be the only survivor. “don’t worry,” he says, and goes over, sitting next to the tub. the first mate, leaning against the wall, pretends not to notice as he quietly begins to sing. x “father,” she says, one day, as she leans on the edge of the dock and the captain sits next to her, “why am I here?” “your mother abandoned you,” he says, as he always has. “we found you adrift, and couldn’t bear to leave you there.” she picks at the salt-soaked boards, uncertain. her hair is pulled back in a fluffy black puff, the white linen holding it slipping almost over one of her dark eyes. one of her first tattoos, a many-limbed kraken, curls over her right shoulder and down her arm, delicate tendrils wrapped around her calloused fingertips. “alright,” she says. x “why am I really here?” she asks the first mate, watching the sun set over the water in streaks of liquid metal that pooled in the troughs of the waves and glittered on the seafoam. “we didn’t know any better,” the first mate says, staring into the water. “we didn’t know- we didn’t know anything. we didn’t understand why she fought so viciously to guard her treasure. we could not know she protected something a thousand times more precious than the purest gold.” she wants to be furious, but she can’t. she already knew the answer, from reading the guilt in her father’s eyes and the empty space in her own history. and she can’t hate her family. “it’s alright,” she says. “i do have a family, anyways. i don’t think i would have liked my other life near as much.” x her kraken grows, spreading its tendrils over her torso and arms. she grows too, too large to come on board the ship without being hauled up in a boat from the water. she sings when the storms come and swims before the ship to guide it to safety. she fights off more than one beast of the seas, and gathers a set of scars across her back that she bears with pride. “i don’t mind,” she says, when the captain fusses over her, “now i match all of you.” the first time their ship is threatened, really threatened, is by another fleet. a friend turned enemy of the first mate. “we shouldn’t fight him,” she says, peering through the spyglass. “why not?” the mermaid asks. “he’ll win,” the first mate says. the mermaid tips her head sideways. Her eyes, dark as the deep waters, gleam in the noon light. “are you sure?” she asks. x the enemy fleet surrenders after the flagship is sunk in the night, the anchor ripped off the ship and the planks torn off the hull. the surviving crew, wild-eyed and delirious, whimper and say a sea serpent came from the water and attacked them, say it was longer than the boat and crushed it in its coils. the first mate hears this and has to hide her laughter. the captain apologizes to his daughter for doubting her. “don’t worry,” she says, with a bright laugh, “it was fun.” x the second time, they are pushed by a storm into a royal fleet. they can’t possibly fight them, and they don’t have the time to escape. “let me up,” the mermaid urges, surfacing starboard and shouting to the crew. “bring me up, quickly, quickly.” they lower the boat and she piles her sinous form into it, and uses her claws to help the crew pull her up. once on the deck she flops out of the boat and makes her way over to the bow. the crew tries to help but she’s so heavy they can barely lift parts of her. she crawls up out in front of the rail and wraps her long webbed tail around the prow. the figurehead has served them well so far but they need more right now. she wraps herself around the figurehead and raises her body up into the wind takes a breath of the stinging salt air and sings. the storm carries her voice on its front to the royal navy. they are enchanted, so stunned by her song that they drop the rigging ropes and let the tillers drift. the pirates sail through the center of the fleet, trailing the storm behind them, and by the time the fleet has managed to regain its senses they are buried in wind and rain and the pirates are gone. x she declines guns. instead she carries a harpoon and its launcher, and uses them to board enemy ships, hauling her massive form out of the water to coil on the deck and dispatch enemies with ruthless efficiency. her family is feared across all the sea. x “you know we are dying,” the captain says, looking down at her. she floats next to the ship, so massive she could hold it in her arms. her eyes are wise. “i know,” she says, “i can feel it coming.” the first mate stands next to the captain. she never had a lover or a child, and neither did he, but to the mermaid they are her parents. she will always love her daughter. the tattoos are graven in dark swirls across the mermaid’s deep brown skin and the flesh of her tail, even spiraling onto the spiked webbing on her spine and face. her hair is still tied back, this time with a sail that could not be patched one last time. “we love you,” the first mate says simply, looking down. her own tightly coiled black hair falls in to her face; she shakes the locs out of the way and smiles through her tears. the captain pretends he isnt crying either. “i love you too,” the mermaid says, and reached up to pull the ship down just a bit, just to hold them one last time. “guard the ship,” the captain says. “you always have but you know they’re lost without you.” “without you,” the mermaid corrects, with a shrug that makes waves. “what will we do?” “i don’t know,” the captain says. “but you’ll help them, won’t you?” “of course i will,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes. “i will always protect my family.” x the captain and the first mate are gone. the ship has a new captain, young and fearless - of the things she can afford to disregard. she fears and loves the ocean, as all captains do. she does not fear the royal fleet. and she does not fear the mermaid. “you know, i heard stories about you when i was a little girl,” she says, trailing her fingers in the water next to the dock. the mermaid stares at her with one eye the size of a dinner table. “is that so?” she hums, smirking with teeth sharper than the swords of the entire navy. “they said you could sink an entire fleet and that you had skin tougher than dragon scales,” the new captain says, grinning right back at the monster who could eat her without a moment’s hesitation. “i always thought they were telling tall tales.” “and now?” “they were right,” the new captain says. “how did they ever befriend you?” the mermaid smiles, fully this time, her dark eyes gleaming under the white linen sail. “they didn’t know any better.” She protects her family. Hi everybody! Guess what’s being posted on AO3 now at the following link! https://archiveofourown.org/works/22498384/chapters/53760817 That’s right! Here you go. I’ll be uploading it in some chunks, because I want to make sure I have everything I wanted edited cleanly finished, but follow the story there! HEY GUYS GUESS WHATS BACK ON THE DASHBOARD AND BETTER THAN EVER

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