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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 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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        quicksillver:
rise-up-ting-ting-like-glitter:

quicksillver:
[ID two versions of the same inked drawing of the comic versions of Clint Barton and Bucky Barnes. One is colored, the other is black and white. Bucky has on a blue jacket and tac pants. He’s also wearing a belt that’s attached to a thigh holster and a shoulder holster. His right arm is draped around Clint’s shoulders. His head is tilted and he has a small smirk on his face. Clint is dressed in a tight-fitting long sleeved purple shirt with his light purple chevron on his chest. He has olive green joggers on and a hip quiver. He’s holding his right arm close to him and has a sort of shy or embarrassed look on his face. end ID]
I thought Clint’s chest chevron was a boob window in the uncoloured version XD

[ID same drawing as above except now Clint’s chevron is a titty window, like it should be. end ID]
: quicksillver:
rise-up-ting-ting-like-glitter:

quicksillver:
[ID two versions of the same inked drawing of the comic versions of Clint Barton and Bucky Barnes. One is colored, the other is black and white. Bucky has on a blue jacket and tac pants. He’s also wearing a belt that’s attached to a thigh holster and a shoulder holster. His right arm is draped around Clint’s shoulders. His head is tilted and he has a small smirk on his face. Clint is dressed in a tight-fitting long sleeved purple shirt with his light purple chevron on his chest. He has olive green joggers on and a hip quiver. He’s holding his right arm close to him and has a sort of shy or embarrassed look on his face. end ID]
I thought Clint’s chest chevron was a boob window in the uncoloured version XD

[ID same drawing as above except now Clint’s chevron is a titty window, like it should be. end ID]

        

            
            

                
                
                    quicksillver:
rise-up-ting-ting-like-glitter:

quicksillver:
[ID two versions of the same inked drawing of the comic versions of Clint Barton and Bucky Barnes. One is colored, the other is black and white. Bucky has on a blue jacket and tac pants. He’s also wearing a belt that’s attached to a thigh holster and a shoulder holster. His right arm is draped around Clint’s shoulders. His head is tilted and he has a small smirk on his face. Clint is dressed in a tight-fitting long sleeved purple shirt with his light purple chevron on his chest. He has olive green joggers on and a hip quiver. He’s holding his right arm close to him and has a sort of shy or embarrassed look on his face. end ID]
I thought Clint’s chest chevron was a boob window in the uncoloured version XD

[ID same drawing as above except now Clint’s chevron is a titty window, like it should be. end ID]
: quicksillver:
rise-up-ting-ting-like-glitter:

quicksillver:
[ID two versions of the same inked drawing of the comic versions of Clint Barton and Bucky Barnes. One is colored, the other is black and white. Bucky has on a blue jacket and tac pants. He’s also wearing a belt that’s attached to a thigh holster and a shoulder holster. His right arm is draped around Clint’s shoulders. His head is tilted and he has a small smirk on his face. Clint is dressed in a tight-fitting long sleeved purple shirt with his light purple chevron on his chest. He has olive green joggers on and a hip quiver. He’s holding his right arm close to him and has a sort of shy or embarrassed look on his face. end ID]
I thought Clint’s chest chevron was a boob window in the uncoloured version XD

[ID same drawing as above except now Clint’s chevron is a titty window, like it should be. end ID]

                    
                
            

            
            
        

    

    

        
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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.” 

        

            
            

                
                
                    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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        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

        

            
            

                
                
                    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

                    
                
            

            
                
                
cereusblue:
unnameablethings:


dragonsateyourtoast:

redporkpadthai:

dragonsateyourtoast:

otherwindow:

otherwindow:
This is how the g...

                
            
            
        

    

    

        
Save

    



        

    

    
    

        

            








        

    

    
    

        

            








        

    

    
    

        

            








        

    

    
    

        

            









    

        
        
        
        
        
        
        
    

    

        sonneillonv:

violent-cisbian:

lesbianplayinanimalcrossing:


violent-cisbian:


thevirginmaryswomb:


radcybergoth:


blackswallowtailbutterfly:


ryderdai:

the-pump-king:


morphimus:


charlesoberonn:

charlesoberonn:

queen-of-dirt:

charlesoberonn:

notaboyscout:

charlesoberonn:


memory-thought:

charlesoberonn:


updogonline:

It took me 3 watches to realize the door is cardboard and this man is not just freakishly strong.



I assure you this is a standard interior door, usually only exterior doors are solid. 

You can see the inside of the cardboard though.
This isn’t a real door, it’s a prop from a movie or TV set.



it has a paper honeycomb for rigidity, and that’s how interior doors are made for modern construction in the USA. 




y'all have never kicked a hole in your bedroom door in a flurry of teenage hormonal rage and it shows

If I kicked my bedroom door I’d more likely break my foot than the door.



I always thought people punching through doors or shoving people through doors was just from the movies. Doors in my country are generally solid planks of wood, a polymer of sorts, or metal.



American homes are made extremely cheaply and aren’t built to last.
Steam from hot showers seeps into wall which are not treated to handle moisture, and mold grows in the walls.
Almost every wall or floor is made out of plywood.
Flimsy roofing that can withstand a run of the mill heavy storm, but not much more than that.
Weak foundations that wouldn’t hold up at all if it weren’t for how light and plywood-y the overall house is.
Not every American house is this shitty in all of these ways, but the vast majority of them are, and almost all of them have at least one of these problems. Even rich people’s homes.
Read this article.
https://dengarden.com/misc/American-Houses-and-Bad-Quality
Then watch this video.



Are we just ignoring this original post was about the OP looking for Elf Pussy or are we just totally past that? 



It’s already been answered that there is no elf pussy here, so why dwell? 🤷🏾‍♂️

I’m in Canada. I haven’t noticed any door be quite that flimsy. You could kick a hole in some of them (the hollow ones) but not right through, and not without hurting yourself.



It also depends on how old your house is. My parents house is from the 80s and all the doors are solid wood



Yeah my parents were the first people to live in our house so it would have been built in the same decade. I remember my mom saying that she liked how the doors were solid wood, and little me was confused bc I thought all doors were made of wood



do y'all,,,, not have stone walls,,,,?



No we don’t, usually just plywood or plasterboard with wooden frames for support. If it is stone it’s usually just a “feature wall” that is made of the aforementioned materials but with a thin layer of stone glued on.
Basically this but just with paint over the plasterboard, American houses (or at least new ones) are built to look nice but ware easily.



why would anyone build something like that? didn’t the pig with the wood house get killed or something? don’t y'all learn from your childhood?

I live in AZ and one of my exterior doors is Styrofoam.
Literally Styrofoam with a flexible plastic plate over it.
You could kick right through it.  Or, if you felt like sneaking in and murdering me, cut through it with a kitchen knife.  
Needless to say I’m having it replaced.



-laughs in solid wooden door-: sonneillonv:

violent-cisbian:

lesbianplayinanimalcrossing:


violent-cisbian:


thevirginmaryswomb:


radcybergoth:


blackswallowtailbutterfly:


ryderdai:

the-pump-king:


morphimus:


charlesoberonn:

charlesoberonn:

queen-of-dirt:

charlesoberonn:

notaboyscout:

charlesoberonn:


memory-thought:

charlesoberonn:


updogonline:

It took me 3 watches to realize the door is cardboard and this man is not just freakishly strong.



I assure you this is a standard interior door, usually only exterior doors are solid. 

You can see the inside of the cardboard though.
This isn’t a real door, it’s a prop from a movie or TV set.



it has a paper honeycomb for rigidity, and that’s how interior doors are made for modern construction in the USA. 




y'all have never kicked a hole in your bedroom door in a flurry of teenage hormonal rage and it shows

If I kicked my bedroom door I’d more likely break my foot than the door.



I always thought people punching through doors or shoving people through doors was just from the movies. Doors in my country are generally solid planks of wood, a polymer of sorts, or metal.



American homes are made extremely cheaply and aren’t built to last.
Steam from hot showers seeps into wall which are not treated to handle moisture, and mold grows in the walls.
Almost every wall or floor is made out of plywood.
Flimsy roofing that can withstand a run of the mill heavy storm, but not much more than that.
Weak foundations that wouldn’t hold up at all if it weren’t for how light and plywood-y the overall house is.
Not every American house is this shitty in all of these ways, but the vast majority of them are, and almost all of them have at least one of these problems. Even rich people’s homes.
Read this article.
https://dengarden.com/misc/American-Houses-and-Bad-Quality
Then watch this video.



Are we just ignoring this original post was about the OP looking for Elf Pussy or are we just totally past that? 



It’s already been answered that there is no elf pussy here, so why dwell? 🤷🏾‍♂️

I’m in Canada. I haven’t noticed any door be quite that flimsy. You could kick a hole in some of them (the hollow ones) but not right through, and not without hurting yourself.



It also depends on how old your house is. My parents house is from the 80s and all the doors are solid wood



Yeah my parents were the first people to live in our house so it would have been built in the same decade. I remember my mom saying that she liked how the doors were solid wood, and little me was confused bc I thought all doors were made of wood



do y'all,,,, not have stone walls,,,,?



No we don’t, usually just plywood or plasterboard with wooden frames for support. If it is stone it’s usually just a “feature wall” that is made of the aforementioned materials but with a thin layer of stone glued on.
Basically this but just with paint over the plasterboard, American houses (or at least new ones) are built to look nice but ware easily.



why would anyone build something like that? didn’t the pig with the wood house get killed or something? don’t y'all learn from your childhood?

I live in AZ and one of my exterior doors is Styrofoam.
Literally Styrofoam with a flexible plastic plate over it.
You could kick right through it.  Or, if you felt like sneaking in and murdering me, cut through it with a kitchen knife.  
Needless to say I’m having it replaced.



-laughs in solid wooden door-
        

            
            

                
                
                    sonneillonv:

violent-cisbian:

lesbianplayinanimalcrossing:


violent-cisbian:


thevirginmaryswomb:


radcybergoth:


blackswallowtailbutterfly:


ryderdai:

the-pump-king:


morphimus:


charlesoberonn:

charlesoberonn:

queen-of-dirt:

charlesoberonn:

notaboyscout:

charlesoberonn:


memory-thought:

charlesoberonn:


updogonline:

It took me 3 watches to realize the door is cardboard and this man is not just freakishly strong.



I assure you this is a standard interior door, usually only exterior doors are solid. 

You can see the inside of the cardboard though.
This isn’t a real door, it’s a prop from a movie or TV set.



it has a paper honeycomb for rigidity, and that’s how interior doors are made for modern construction in the USA. 




y'all have never kicked a hole in your bedroom door in a flurry of teenage hormonal rage and it shows

If I kicked my bedroom door I’d more likely break my foot than the door.



I always thought people punching through doors or shoving people through doors was just from the movies. Doors in my country are generally solid planks of wood, a polymer of sorts, or metal.



American homes are made extremely cheaply and aren’t built to last.
Steam from hot showers seeps into wall which are not treated to handle moisture, and mold grows in the walls.
Almost every wall or floor is made out of plywood.
Flimsy roofing that can withstand a run of the mill heavy storm, but not much more than that.
Weak foundations that wouldn’t hold up at all if it weren’t for how light and plywood-y the overall house is.
Not every American house is this shitty in all of these ways, but the vast majority of them are, and almost all of them have at least one of these problems. Even rich people’s homes.
Read this article.
https://dengarden.com/misc/American-Houses-and-Bad-Quality
Then watch this video.



Are we just ignoring this original post was about the OP looking for Elf Pussy or are we just totally past that? 



It’s already been answered that there is no elf pussy here, so why dwell? 🤷🏾‍♂️

I’m in Canada. I haven’t noticed any door be quite that flimsy. You could kick a hole in some of them (the hollow ones) but not right through, and not without hurting yourself.



It also depends on how old your house is. My parents house is from the 80s and all the doors are solid wood



Yeah my parents were the first people to live in our house so it would have been built in the same decade. I remember my mom saying that she liked how the doors were solid wood, and little me was confused bc I thought all doors were made of wood



do y'all,,,, not have stone walls,,,,?



No we don’t, usually just plywood or plasterboard with wooden frames for support. If it is stone it’s usually just a “feature wall” that is made of the aforementioned materials but with a thin layer of stone glued on.
Basically this but just with paint over the plasterboard, American houses (or at least new ones) are built to look nice but ware easily.



why would anyone build something like that? didn’t the pig with the wood house get killed or something? don’t y'all learn from your childhood?

I live in AZ and one of my exterior doors is Styrofoam.
Literally Styrofoam with a flexible plastic plate over it.
You could kick right through it.  Or, if you felt like sneaking in and murdering me, cut through it with a kitchen knife.  
Needless to say I’m having it replaced.



-laughs in solid wooden door-: sonneillonv:

violent-cisbian:

lesbianplayinanimalcrossing:


violent-cisbian:


thevirginmaryswomb:


radcybergoth:


blackswallowtailbutterfly:


ryderdai:

the-pump-king:


morphimus:


charlesoberonn:

charlesoberonn:

queen-of-dirt:

charlesoberonn:

notaboyscout:

charlesoberonn:


memory-thought:

charlesoberonn:


updogonline:

It took me 3 watches to realize the door is cardboard and this man is not just freakishly strong.



I assure you this is a standard interior door, usually only exterior doors are solid. 

You can see the inside of the cardboard though.
This isn’t a real door, it’s a prop from a movie or TV set.



it has a paper honeycomb for rigidity, and that’s how interior doors are made for modern construction in the USA. 




y'all have never kicked a hole in your bedroom door in a flurry of teenage hormonal rage and it shows

If I kicked my bedroom door I’d more likely break my foot than the door.



I always thought people punching through doors or shoving people through doors was just from the movies. Doors in my country are generally solid planks of wood, a polymer of sorts, or metal.



American homes are made extremely cheaply and aren’t built to last.
Steam from hot showers seeps into wall which are not treated to handle moisture, and mold grows in the walls.
Almost every wall or floor is made out of plywood.
Flimsy roofing that can withstand a run of the mill heavy storm, but not much more than that.
Weak foundations that wouldn’t hold up at all if it weren’t for how light and plywood-y the overall house is.
Not every American house is this shitty in all of these ways, but the vast majority of them are, and almost all of them have at least one of these problems. Even rich people’s homes.
Read this article.
https://dengarden.com/misc/American-Houses-and-Bad-Quality
Then watch this video.



Are we just ignoring this original post was about the OP looking for Elf Pussy or are we just totally past that? 



It’s already been answered that there is no elf pussy here, so why dwell? 🤷🏾‍♂️

I’m in Canada. I haven’t noticed any door be quite that flimsy. You could kick a hole in some of them (the hollow ones) but not right through, and not without hurting yourself.



It also depends on how old your house is. My parents house is from the 80s and all the doors are solid wood



Yeah my parents were the first people to live in our house so it would have been built in the same decade. I remember my mom saying that she liked how the doors were solid wood, and little me was confused bc I thought all doors were made of wood



do y'all,,,, not have stone walls,,,,?



No we don’t, usually just plywood or plasterboard with wooden frames for support. If it is stone it’s usually just a “feature wall” that is made of the aforementioned materials but with a thin layer of stone glued on.
Basically this but just with paint over the plasterboard, American houses (or at least new ones) are built to look nice but ware easily.



why would anyone build something like that? didn’t the pig with the wood house get killed or something? don’t y'all learn from your childhood?

I live in AZ and one of my exterior doors is Styrofoam.
Literally Styrofoam with a flexible plastic plate over it.
You could kick right through it.  Or, if you felt like sneaking in and murdering me, cut through it with a kitchen knife.  
Needless to say I’m having it replaced.



-laughs in solid wooden door-
                    
                
            

            
            
        

    

    

        
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        cheeseanonioncrisps:

roseverdict:

roseverdict:


jus-tea:

Daddy’s at the food store, Mummy’s out of town,
She’s working at the hospital since Rhona came to town,
Hide away, hide away, Miss Rhona’s come to town,
Hide away, hide away, she’s come to take us down.
Miss Rhona’s at the doorstep, I’ll keep 6 feet away,
But Grandma needs the paper, I’ll take her some today,
Hide away, hide away, Miss Rhona’s come to stay,
Hide away, hide away, we can’t come out to play.
But Grandma needs the paper, I’ll take her some today,
And here’s a note from Rhona, she wanted me to say,
Hide away, hide away, keep 6 feet away,
Hide away, hide away, she took us down today.






[Image ID: Tumblr user @neanderthyall says in the notes, “I thought that 6 feet was kind of a double meaning. Like six feet away to stop the spread, but when people die they’re six feet underground, and its six feet of the dirt that keeps you apart. Like ‘Hide away, hide away, even though it hurts Hide away, hide away, or the six feet will be dirt’.” End ID.]
HI DON’T LEAVE THIS IN THE NOTES THAT’S ACTUALLY BRILLIANT



It’s not a proper creepy nursery rhyme until it’s got an eery childrens’ game attached to it though (think ring-a-round-the-roses or oranges and lemons).
One child shall be designated ‘Miss (Mr, Mx) Rhona’ and will have to cover their eyes (hide away). They then have to try to catch the other kids— think Blind Man’s Bluff. The children running away chant the rhyme, to make it easier for ‘Rhona’ to find them.
Any child tagged becomes another ‘Rhona’ and must also cover their eyes and join in the chase. The winner is the last child left uninfected.
Meanwhile all adults in the area must watch with a vague sense of unease, and whisper to each other “do you know what that’s inspired by?”
: cheeseanonioncrisps:

roseverdict:

roseverdict:


jus-tea:

Daddy’s at the food store, Mummy’s out of town,
She’s working at the hospital since Rhona came to town,
Hide away, hide away, Miss Rhona’s come to town,
Hide away, hide away, she’s come to take us down.
Miss Rhona’s at the doorstep, I’ll keep 6 feet away,
But Grandma needs the paper, I’ll take her some today,
Hide away, hide away, Miss Rhona’s come to stay,
Hide away, hide away, we can’t come out to play.
But Grandma needs the paper, I’ll take her some today,
And here’s a note from Rhona, she wanted me to say,
Hide away, hide away, keep 6 feet away,
Hide away, hide away, she took us down today.






[Image ID: Tumblr user @neanderthyall says in the notes, “I thought that 6 feet was kind of a double meaning. Like six feet away to stop the spread, but when people die they’re six feet underground, and its six feet of the dirt that keeps you apart. Like ‘Hide away, hide away, even though it hurts Hide away, hide away, or the six feet will be dirt’.” End ID.]
HI DON’T LEAVE THIS IN THE NOTES THAT’S ACTUALLY BRILLIANT



It’s not a proper creepy nursery rhyme until it’s got an eery childrens’ game attached to it though (think ring-a-round-the-roses or oranges and lemons).
One child shall be designated ‘Miss (Mr, Mx) Rhona’ and will have to cover their eyes (hide away). They then have to try to catch the other kids— think Blind Man’s Bluff. The children running away chant the rhyme, to make it easier for ‘Rhona’ to find them.
Any child tagged becomes another ‘Rhona’ and must also cover their eyes and join in the chase. The winner is the last child left uninfected.
Meanwhile all adults in the area must watch with a vague sense of unease, and whisper to each other “do you know what that’s inspired by?”

        

            
            

                
                
                    cheeseanonioncrisps:

roseverdict:

roseverdict:


jus-tea:

Daddy’s at the food store, Mummy’s out of town,
She’s working at the hospital since Rhona came to town,
Hide away, hide away, Miss Rhona’s come to town,
Hide away, hide away, she’s come to take us down.
Miss Rhona’s at the doorstep, I’ll keep 6 feet away,
But Grandma needs the paper, I’ll take her some today,
Hide away, hide away, Miss Rhona’s come to stay,
Hide away, hide away, we can’t come out to play.
But Grandma needs the paper, I’ll take her some today,
And here’s a note from Rhona, she wanted me to say,
Hide away, hide away, keep 6 feet away,
Hide away, hide away, she took us down today.






[Image ID: Tumblr user @neanderthyall says in the notes, “I thought that 6 feet was kind of a double meaning. Like six feet away to stop the spread, but when people die they’re six feet underground, and its six feet of the dirt that keeps you apart. Like ‘Hide away, hide away, even though it hurts Hide away, hide away, or the six feet will be dirt’.” End ID.]
HI DON’T LEAVE THIS IN THE NOTES THAT’S ACTUALLY BRILLIANT



It’s not a proper creepy nursery rhyme until it’s got an eery childrens’ game attached to it though (think ring-a-round-the-roses or oranges and lemons).
One child shall be designated ‘Miss (Mr, Mx) Rhona’ and will have to cover their eyes (hide away). They then have to try to catch the other kids— think Blind Man’s Bluff. The children running away chant the rhyme, to make it easier for ‘Rhona’ to find them.
Any child tagged becomes another ‘Rhona’ and must also cover their eyes and join in the chase. The winner is the last child left uninfected.
Meanwhile all adults in the area must watch with a vague sense of unease, and whisper to each other “do you know what that’s inspired by?”
: cheeseanonioncrisps:

roseverdict:

roseverdict:


jus-tea:

Daddy’s at the food store, Mummy’s out of town,
She’s working at the hospital since Rhona came to town,
Hide away, hide away, Miss Rhona’s come to town,
Hide away, hide away, she’s come to take us down.
Miss Rhona’s at the doorstep, I’ll keep 6 feet away,
But Grandma needs the paper, I’ll take her some today,
Hide away, hide away, Miss Rhona’s come to stay,
Hide away, hide away, we can’t come out to play.
But Grandma needs the paper, I’ll take her some today,
And here’s a note from Rhona, she wanted me to say,
Hide away, hide away, keep 6 feet away,
Hide away, hide away, she took us down today.






[Image ID: Tumblr user @neanderthyall says in the notes, “I thought that 6 feet was kind of a double meaning. Like six feet away to stop the spread, but when people die they’re six feet underground, and its six feet of the dirt that keeps you apart. Like ‘Hide away, hide away, even though it hurts Hide away, hide away, or the six feet will be dirt’.” End ID.]
HI DON’T LEAVE THIS IN THE NOTES THAT’S ACTUALLY BRILLIANT



It’s not a proper creepy nursery rhyme until it’s got an eery childrens’ game attached to it though (think ring-a-round-the-roses or oranges and lemons).
One child shall be designated ‘Miss (Mr, Mx) Rhona’ and will have to cover their eyes (hide away). They then have to try to catch the other kids— think Blind Man’s Bluff. The children running away chant the rhyme, to make it easier for ‘Rhona’ to find them.
Any child tagged becomes another ‘Rhona’ and must also cover their eyes and join in the chase. The winner is the last child left uninfected.
Meanwhile all adults in the area must watch with a vague sense of unease, and whisper to each other “do you know what that’s inspired by?”

                    
                
            

            
                
                
cheeseanonioncrisps:

roseverdict:

roseverdict:


jus-tea:

Daddy’s at the food store, Mummy’s out of town,
She’s working at the hospita...

                
            
            
        

    

    

        
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