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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...

                
            
            
        

    

    

        
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        omgcheckplease:

★ Notes on Year 4, Comic 26 - Check, Please ★In the summer of 2013, I was fully mourning my completed time as an undergraduate at Yale. One of the college’s traditional songs—which they strategically have students sing during their first weeks as Yalies and then again at the moment we’re conferred our degrees—goes like this:Bright College years, with pleasure rife,The shortest, gladdest years of life;How swiftly are ye gliding by!Oh, why doth time so quickly fly?Et cetera. The first time you sing it, you mumble the words and don’t know a single person around you. The last time you sing it, wearing the mortarboard and gown, you’ve got the lyrics memorized and you’re surrounded by some of the most important people in your life.That summer, with “How bright will seem, through mem’ry’s haze/ Those happy, golden, bygone days!” still ringing in my ears, I started CHECK, PLEASE. The comic’s first panels emerged on an ancient laptop, through a borrowed bamboo tablet, and on a free drawing program called gnu-IMPShop. I had no plan. I wanted to explore my newfound fascination with hockey and share silly cartoons on Tumblr. But unconsciously, I also wanted to pour the nostalgia of those bright college years into the Haus, Faber, Samwell, and Bitty’s story. I wanted to bottle up those moments where we grow and change and fall down and pick ourselves back up. Drawing CHECK, PLEASE was how I revisited those experiences and how I sifted through the bittersweet feeling of concluding something I loved. Perhaps this is why finishing CHECK, PLEASE calls back those same emotions. Just as Bitty would bake affection into a pie, I might have encoded into CHECK, PLEASE the heartfelt fondness I had for my time in college, the love of the friends I made there, and the gratitude I have for my own growth.I have always found it easier to express gratitude face to face. And even though I would not have gotten to meet all of you, the greatest downside of being unable to participate in a book tour is that I can’t say thanks in person. I could write a thousand words, yet they couldn’t replace a high five at a bookstore signing or a handshake at a convention. I could write the blog post to end all blog posts, but it’s not the same as yelling with you about an episode or chatting about a fandom we both happen be in. For me, it’s those moments that somehow equate to my abundant appreciation for you, the reader.I look forward to the day when I can let my actions speak louder than my words!In the meantime: thank you. I am incredibly blessed to get to create a story and then share it. This is all I want to do in life. These characters get to have a readership overflowing with love and enthusiasm for them. This comic, somehow, has found ambassadors. This story gets to be told. Thank you! I’m excited to share with you the unusual, fun, and hopeful narratives I’m working hard to develop.So with that, I’ll sign off on the last blog post! Thank you for reading this comic. Thank you for sharing it with friends. Thank you for caring about Bitty’s story and CHECK, PLEASE.Thank you!John J. Johnson.Just kidding, it’s Ngozi. :^) Tee hee. Bye now!: omgcheckplease:

★ Notes on Year 4, Comic 26 - Check, Please ★In the summer of 2013, I was fully mourning my completed time as an undergraduate at Yale. One of the college’s traditional songs—which they strategically have students sing during their first weeks as Yalies and then again at the moment we’re conferred our degrees—goes like this:Bright College years, with pleasure rife,The shortest, gladdest years of life;How swiftly are ye gliding by!Oh, why doth time so quickly fly?Et cetera. The first time you sing it, you mumble the words and don’t know a single person around you. The last time you sing it, wearing the mortarboard and gown, you’ve got the lyrics memorized and you’re surrounded by some of the most important people in your life.That summer, with “How bright will seem, through mem’ry’s haze/ Those happy, golden, bygone days!” still ringing in my ears, I started CHECK, PLEASE. The comic’s first panels emerged on an ancient laptop, through a borrowed bamboo tablet, and on a free drawing program called gnu-IMPShop. I had no plan. I wanted to explore my newfound fascination with hockey and share silly cartoons on Tumblr. But unconsciously, I also wanted to pour the nostalgia of those bright college years into the Haus, Faber, Samwell, and Bitty’s story. I wanted to bottle up those moments where we grow and change and fall down and pick ourselves back up. Drawing CHECK, PLEASE was how I revisited those experiences and how I sifted through the bittersweet feeling of concluding something I loved. Perhaps this is why finishing CHECK, PLEASE calls back those same emotions. Just as Bitty would bake affection into a pie, I might have encoded into CHECK, PLEASE the heartfelt fondness I had for my time in college, the love of the friends I made there, and the gratitude I have for my own growth.I have always found it easier to express gratitude face to face. And even though I would not have gotten to meet all of you, the greatest downside of being unable to participate in a book tour is that I can’t say thanks in person. I could write a thousand words, yet they couldn’t replace a high five at a bookstore signing or a handshake at a convention. I could write the blog post to end all blog posts, but it’s not the same as yelling with you about an episode or chatting about a fandom we both happen be in. For me, it’s those moments that somehow equate to my abundant appreciation for you, the reader.I look forward to the day when I can let my actions speak louder than my words!In the meantime: thank you. I am incredibly blessed to get to create a story and then share it. This is all I want to do in life. These characters get to have a readership overflowing with love and enthusiasm for them. This comic, somehow, has found ambassadors. This story gets to be told. Thank you! I’m excited to share with you the unusual, fun, and hopeful narratives I’m working hard to develop.So with that, I’ll sign off on the last blog post! Thank you for reading this comic. Thank you for sharing it with friends. Thank you for caring about Bitty’s story and CHECK, PLEASE.Thank you!John J. Johnson.Just kidding, it’s Ngozi. :^) Tee hee. Bye now!
        

            
            

                
                
                    omgcheckplease:

★ Notes on Year 4, Comic 26 - Check, Please ★In the summer of 2013, I was fully mourning my completed time as an undergraduate at Yale. One of the college’s traditional songs—which they strategically have students sing during their first weeks as Yalies and then again at the moment we’re conferred our degrees—goes like this:Bright College years, with pleasure rife,The shortest, gladdest years of life;How swiftly are ye gliding by!Oh, why doth time so quickly fly?Et cetera. The first time you sing it, you mumble the words and don’t know a single person around you. The last time you sing it, wearing the mortarboard and gown, you’ve got the lyrics memorized and you’re surrounded by some of the most important people in your life.That summer, with “How bright will seem, through mem’ry’s haze/ Those happy, golden, bygone days!” still ringing in my ears, I started CHECK, PLEASE. The comic’s first panels emerged on an ancient laptop, through a borrowed bamboo tablet, and on a free drawing program called gnu-IMPShop. I had no plan. I wanted to explore my newfound fascination with hockey and share silly cartoons on Tumblr. But unconsciously, I also wanted to pour the nostalgia of those bright college years into the Haus, Faber, Samwell, and Bitty’s story. I wanted to bottle up those moments where we grow and change and fall down and pick ourselves back up. Drawing CHECK, PLEASE was how I revisited those experiences and how I sifted through the bittersweet feeling of concluding something I loved. Perhaps this is why finishing CHECK, PLEASE calls back those same emotions. Just as Bitty would bake affection into a pie, I might have encoded into CHECK, PLEASE the heartfelt fondness I had for my time in college, the love of the friends I made there, and the gratitude I have for my own growth.I have always found it easier to express gratitude face to face. And even though I would not have gotten to meet all of you, the greatest downside of being unable to participate in a book tour is that I can’t say thanks in person. I could write a thousand words, yet they couldn’t replace a high five at a bookstore signing or a handshake at a convention. I could write the blog post to end all blog posts, but it’s not the same as yelling with you about an episode or chatting about a fandom we both happen be in. For me, it’s those moments that somehow equate to my abundant appreciation for you, the reader.I look forward to the day when I can let my actions speak louder than my words!In the meantime: thank you. I am incredibly blessed to get to create a story and then share it. This is all I want to do in life. These characters get to have a readership overflowing with love and enthusiasm for them. This comic, somehow, has found ambassadors. This story gets to be told. Thank you! I’m excited to share with you the unusual, fun, and hopeful narratives I’m working hard to develop.So with that, I’ll sign off on the last blog post! Thank you for reading this comic. Thank you for sharing it with friends. Thank you for caring about Bitty’s story and CHECK, PLEASE.Thank you!John J. Johnson.Just kidding, it’s Ngozi. :^) Tee hee. Bye now!: omgcheckplease:

★ Notes on Year 4, Comic 26 - Check, Please ★In the summer of 2013, I was fully mourning my completed time as an undergraduate at Yale. One of the college’s traditional songs—which they strategically have students sing during their first weeks as Yalies and then again at the moment we’re conferred our degrees—goes like this:Bright College years, with pleasure rife,The shortest, gladdest years of life;How swiftly are ye gliding by!Oh, why doth time so quickly fly?Et cetera. The first time you sing it, you mumble the words and don’t know a single person around you. The last time you sing it, wearing the mortarboard and gown, you’ve got the lyrics memorized and you’re surrounded by some of the most important people in your life.That summer, with “How bright will seem, through mem’ry’s haze/ Those happy, golden, bygone days!” still ringing in my ears, I started CHECK, PLEASE. The comic’s first panels emerged on an ancient laptop, through a borrowed bamboo tablet, and on a free drawing program called gnu-IMPShop. I had no plan. I wanted to explore my newfound fascination with hockey and share silly cartoons on Tumblr. But unconsciously, I also wanted to pour the nostalgia of those bright college years into the Haus, Faber, Samwell, and Bitty’s story. I wanted to bottle up those moments where we grow and change and fall down and pick ourselves back up. Drawing CHECK, PLEASE was how I revisited those experiences and how I sifted through the bittersweet feeling of concluding something I loved. Perhaps this is why finishing CHECK, PLEASE calls back those same emotions. Just as Bitty would bake affection into a pie, I might have encoded into CHECK, PLEASE the heartfelt fondness I had for my time in college, the love of the friends I made there, and the gratitude I have for my own growth.I have always found it easier to express gratitude face to face. And even though I would not have gotten to meet all of you, the greatest downside of being unable to participate in a book tour is that I can’t say thanks in person. I could write a thousand words, yet they couldn’t replace a high five at a bookstore signing or a handshake at a convention. I could write the blog post to end all blog posts, but it’s not the same as yelling with you about an episode or chatting about a fandom we both happen be in. For me, it’s those moments that somehow equate to my abundant appreciation for you, the reader.I look forward to the day when I can let my actions speak louder than my words!In the meantime: thank you. I am incredibly blessed to get to create a story and then share it. This is all I want to do in life. These characters get to have a readership overflowing with love and enthusiasm for them. This comic, somehow, has found ambassadors. This story gets to be told. Thank you! I’m excited to share with you the unusual, fun, and hopeful narratives I’m working hard to develop.So with that, I’ll sign off on the last blog post! Thank you for reading this comic. Thank you for sharing it with friends. Thank you for caring about Bitty’s story and CHECK, PLEASE.Thank you!John J. Johnson.Just kidding, it’s Ngozi. :^) Tee hee. Bye now!
                    
                
            

            
                
                
omgcheckplease:

★ Notes on Year 4, Comic 26 - Check, Please ★In the summer of 2013, I was fully mourning my completed time as an undergr...

                
            
            
        

    

    

        
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        First time?: First time?
        

            
            

                
                
                    First time?: First time?
                    
                
            

            
                
                
First time?

                
            
            
        

    

    

        
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        sushinfood:

justamerplwithabox:

vivelafat:

prokopetz:

officialdeadparrot:

grellholmes:

elsajeni:

gunslingerannie:

justtkeepcalmm:

dean-and-his-pie:

fororchestra:

musicalmelody:

Fun Story: My director kept telling me and my tenor sax buddy to play softer. No matter what we did, it wasn’t soft enough for him. So getting frustrated, I told my buddy “Dont play this time. Just fake it” 
Our Band Director then informed us we sounded perfect. 

To my readers: “p” means quiet, “pp” means really quiet. I’ve never seen “pppp” before haha.
On the contrast, “f” means loud, and “ffff” probably means so loud you go unconscious.

I had ffff in a piece once and my conductor told me to play as loudly as physically possible without falling off my chair…

Me and my trombone buddies had “ffff” and he sat next to me and played so hard that he fell out of his chair.
The lengths we go for music.

Okay yeah so I play the bass clarinet and the amount of air you have to move and the stiffness of the reed means it only has two settings and that is loud and louder, with an optional LOUDEST that includes a 50% probability of HORRIBLE CROAKING NOISE which is the bass equivalent of the ubiquitous clarinet shriek.

One day, when I was in concert band in high school, we got a new piece handed out for the first time, and there was a strange little commotion back in the tuba section — whispering, and pointing at something in the music, and swatting at each other’s hands all shhh don’t call attention to it. And although they did attract the attention of basically everyone else in the band, they managed to avoid being noticed by the band director, who gave us a few minutes to look over our parts and then said, “All right, let’s run through it up to section A.”
And here we are, cheerfully playing along, sounding reasonably competent — but everyone, when they have the attention to spare, is keeping an eye on the tuba players. They don’t come in for the first eight measures or so, and then when they do come in, what we see is:
[stifled giggling]
[reeeeeeally deep breath]
[COLOSSAL FOGHORN NOISE]
The entire band stops dead, in the cacophonous kind of way that a band stops when it hasn’t actually been cued to stop. The band director doesn’t even say anything, just looks straight back at the tubas and makes a helpless sort of why gesture.
In unison, the tuba players defend themselves: “THERE WERE FOUR F’S.”
FFFF is not really a rational dynamic marking for any instrument, but for the love of all that is holy why would you put it in a tuba part.

This is the best band post 
Everyone else go home

Oh man, so I play trombone, and we got this piece called Florentiner Marsch by Julius Fucik, and we saw this

which is 8 fortes. We were shocked until,

that is 24 fortes who the fuck does that

Who does that?

This guy. Take a good look - that is the moustache of a man with nothing to lose.

Julius IdontgivaFucik

More like Julius Fuckit


Pyrozod’s tags for this were too hilarious not to share
: sushinfood:

justamerplwithabox:

vivelafat:

prokopetz:

officialdeadparrot:

grellholmes:

elsajeni:

gunslingerannie:

justtkeepcalmm:

dean-and-his-pie:

fororchestra:

musicalmelody:

Fun Story: My director kept telling me and my tenor sax buddy to play softer. No matter what we did, it wasn’t soft enough for him. So getting frustrated, I told my buddy “Dont play this time. Just fake it” 
Our Band Director then informed us we sounded perfect. 

To my readers: “p” means quiet, “pp” means really quiet. I’ve never seen “pppp” before haha.
On the contrast, “f” means loud, and “ffff” probably means so loud you go unconscious.

I had ffff in a piece once and my conductor told me to play as loudly as physically possible without falling off my chair…

Me and my trombone buddies had “ffff” and he sat next to me and played so hard that he fell out of his chair.
The lengths we go for music.

Okay yeah so I play the bass clarinet and the amount of air you have to move and the stiffness of the reed means it only has two settings and that is loud and louder, with an optional LOUDEST that includes a 50% probability of HORRIBLE CROAKING NOISE which is the bass equivalent of the ubiquitous clarinet shriek.

One day, when I was in concert band in high school, we got a new piece handed out for the first time, and there was a strange little commotion back in the tuba section — whispering, and pointing at something in the music, and swatting at each other’s hands all shhh don’t call attention to it. And although they did attract the attention of basically everyone else in the band, they managed to avoid being noticed by the band director, who gave us a few minutes to look over our parts and then said, “All right, let’s run through it up to section A.”
And here we are, cheerfully playing along, sounding reasonably competent — but everyone, when they have the attention to spare, is keeping an eye on the tuba players. They don’t come in for the first eight measures or so, and then when they do come in, what we see is:
[stifled giggling]
[reeeeeeally deep breath]
[COLOSSAL FOGHORN NOISE]
The entire band stops dead, in the cacophonous kind of way that a band stops when it hasn’t actually been cued to stop. The band director doesn’t even say anything, just looks straight back at the tubas and makes a helpless sort of why gesture.
In unison, the tuba players defend themselves: “THERE WERE FOUR F’S.”
FFFF is not really a rational dynamic marking for any instrument, but for the love of all that is holy why would you put it in a tuba part.

This is the best band post 
Everyone else go home

Oh man, so I play trombone, and we got this piece called Florentiner Marsch by Julius Fucik, and we saw this

which is 8 fortes. We were shocked until,

that is 24 fortes who the fuck does that

Who does that?

This guy. Take a good look - that is the moustache of a man with nothing to lose.

Julius IdontgivaFucik

More like Julius Fuckit


Pyrozod’s tags for this were too hilarious not to share

        

            
            

                
                
                    sushinfood:

justamerplwithabox:

vivelafat:

prokopetz:

officialdeadparrot:

grellholmes:

elsajeni:

gunslingerannie:

justtkeepcalmm:

dean-and-his-pie:

fororchestra:

musicalmelody:

Fun Story: My director kept telling me and my tenor sax buddy to play softer. No matter what we did, it wasn’t soft enough for him. So getting frustrated, I told my buddy “Dont play this time. Just fake it” 
Our Band Director then informed us we sounded perfect. 

To my readers: “p” means quiet, “pp” means really quiet. I’ve never seen “pppp” before haha.
On the contrast, “f” means loud, and “ffff” probably means so loud you go unconscious.

I had ffff in a piece once and my conductor told me to play as loudly as physically possible without falling off my chair…

Me and my trombone buddies had “ffff” and he sat next to me and played so hard that he fell out of his chair.
The lengths we go for music.

Okay yeah so I play the bass clarinet and the amount of air you have to move and the stiffness of the reed means it only has two settings and that is loud and louder, with an optional LOUDEST that includes a 50% probability of HORRIBLE CROAKING NOISE which is the bass equivalent of the ubiquitous clarinet shriek.

One day, when I was in concert band in high school, we got a new piece handed out for the first time, and there was a strange little commotion back in the tuba section — whispering, and pointing at something in the music, and swatting at each other’s hands all shhh don’t call attention to it. And although they did attract the attention of basically everyone else in the band, they managed to avoid being noticed by the band director, who gave us a few minutes to look over our parts and then said, “All right, let’s run through it up to section A.”
And here we are, cheerfully playing along, sounding reasonably competent — but everyone, when they have the attention to spare, is keeping an eye on the tuba players. They don’t come in for the first eight measures or so, and then when they do come in, what we see is:
[stifled giggling]
[reeeeeeally deep breath]
[COLOSSAL FOGHORN NOISE]
The entire band stops dead, in the cacophonous kind of way that a band stops when it hasn’t actually been cued to stop. The band director doesn’t even say anything, just looks straight back at the tubas and makes a helpless sort of why gesture.
In unison, the tuba players defend themselves: “THERE WERE FOUR F’S.”
FFFF is not really a rational dynamic marking for any instrument, but for the love of all that is holy why would you put it in a tuba part.

This is the best band post 
Everyone else go home

Oh man, so I play trombone, and we got this piece called Florentiner Marsch by Julius Fucik, and we saw this

which is 8 fortes. We were shocked until,

that is 24 fortes who the fuck does that

Who does that?

This guy. Take a good look - that is the moustache of a man with nothing to lose.

Julius IdontgivaFucik

More like Julius Fuckit


Pyrozod’s tags for this were too hilarious not to share
: sushinfood:

justamerplwithabox:

vivelafat:

prokopetz:

officialdeadparrot:

grellholmes:

elsajeni:

gunslingerannie:

justtkeepcalmm:

dean-and-his-pie:

fororchestra:

musicalmelody:

Fun Story: My director kept telling me and my tenor sax buddy to play softer. No matter what we did, it wasn’t soft enough for him. So getting frustrated, I told my buddy “Dont play this time. Just fake it” 
Our Band Director then informed us we sounded perfect. 

To my readers: “p” means quiet, “pp” means really quiet. I’ve never seen “pppp” before haha.
On the contrast, “f” means loud, and “ffff” probably means so loud you go unconscious.

I had ffff in a piece once and my conductor told me to play as loudly as physically possible without falling off my chair…

Me and my trombone buddies had “ffff” and he sat next to me and played so hard that he fell out of his chair.
The lengths we go for music.

Okay yeah so I play the bass clarinet and the amount of air you have to move and the stiffness of the reed means it only has two settings and that is loud and louder, with an optional LOUDEST that includes a 50% probability of HORRIBLE CROAKING NOISE which is the bass equivalent of the ubiquitous clarinet shriek.

One day, when I was in concert band in high school, we got a new piece handed out for the first time, and there was a strange little commotion back in the tuba section — whispering, and pointing at something in the music, and swatting at each other’s hands all shhh don’t call attention to it. And although they did attract the attention of basically everyone else in the band, they managed to avoid being noticed by the band director, who gave us a few minutes to look over our parts and then said, “All right, let’s run through it up to section A.”
And here we are, cheerfully playing along, sounding reasonably competent — but everyone, when they have the attention to spare, is keeping an eye on the tuba players. They don’t come in for the first eight measures or so, and then when they do come in, what we see is:
[stifled giggling]
[reeeeeeally deep breath]
[COLOSSAL FOGHORN NOISE]
The entire band stops dead, in the cacophonous kind of way that a band stops when it hasn’t actually been cued to stop. The band director doesn’t even say anything, just looks straight back at the tubas and makes a helpless sort of why gesture.
In unison, the tuba players defend themselves: “THERE WERE FOUR F’S.”
FFFF is not really a rational dynamic marking for any instrument, but for the love of all that is holy why would you put it in a tuba part.

This is the best band post 
Everyone else go home

Oh man, so I play trombone, and we got this piece called Florentiner Marsch by Julius Fucik, and we saw this

which is 8 fortes. We were shocked until,

that is 24 fortes who the fuck does that

Who does that?

This guy. Take a good look - that is the moustache of a man with nothing to lose.

Julius IdontgivaFucik

More like Julius Fuckit


Pyrozod’s tags for this were too hilarious not to share

                    
                
            

            
            
        

    

    

        
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        dovewithscales:

thatmadhatter:

Okay, but THIS.
My therapist only recently understood that when I said, “I don’t know how to make this phone call or make this appointment.” I very literally meant I didn’t know what to do. I can dial the phone, but what do I say EXACTLY? What questions are going to be asked? What do I need to have on hand? What if they ask me something I don’t know the answer to?
I’m one of those people that needs very specific and detailed instructions if I’m doing something for the first time.



Be patient with people. We all have our struggles. Sometimes it can make all the difference in the world knowing someone can spare a few minutes to care about you and walk you through something that’s hard for you. 
: dovewithscales:

thatmadhatter:

Okay, but THIS.
My therapist only recently understood that when I said, “I don’t know how to make this phone call or make this appointment.” I very literally meant I didn’t know what to do. I can dial the phone, but what do I say EXACTLY? What questions are going to be asked? What do I need to have on hand? What if they ask me something I don’t know the answer to?
I’m one of those people that needs very specific and detailed instructions if I’m doing something for the first time.



Be patient with people. We all have our struggles. Sometimes it can make all the difference in the world knowing someone can spare a few minutes to care about you and walk you through something that’s hard for you. 

        

            
            

                
                
                    dovewithscales:

thatmadhatter:

Okay, but THIS.
My therapist only recently understood that when I said, “I don’t know how to make this phone call or make this appointment.” I very literally meant I didn’t know what to do. I can dial the phone, but what do I say EXACTLY? What questions are going to be asked? What do I need to have on hand? What if they ask me something I don’t know the answer to?
I’m one of those people that needs very specific and detailed instructions if I’m doing something for the first time.



Be patient with people. We all have our struggles. Sometimes it can make all the difference in the world knowing someone can spare a few minutes to care about you and walk you through something that’s hard for you. 
: dovewithscales:

thatmadhatter:

Okay, but THIS.
My therapist only recently understood that when I said, “I don’t know how to make this phone call or make this appointment.” I very literally meant I didn’t know what to do. I can dial the phone, but what do I say EXACTLY? What questions are going to be asked? What do I need to have on hand? What if they ask me something I don’t know the answer to?
I’m one of those people that needs very specific and detailed instructions if I’m doing something for the first time.



Be patient with people. We all have our struggles. Sometimes it can make all the difference in the world knowing someone can spare a few minutes to care about you and walk you through something that’s hard for you. 

                    
                
            

            
                
                
dovewithscales:

thatmadhatter:

Okay, but THIS.
My therapist only recently understood that when I said, “I don’t know how to make this p...

                
            
            
        

    

    

        
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