My Guy
My Guy

My Guy

Scaling
Scaling

Scaling

When
When

When

Attentation
Attentation

Attentation

Hornys
Hornys

Hornys

Rangerup Com
Rangerup Com

Rangerup Com

decor
decor

decor

young girls
 young girls

young girls

enchanting
 enchanting

enchanting

ruff
 ruff

ruff

🔥 | Latest

Delicate: 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
Delicate: 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...

Delicate: slaanesh-is-my-boy: endivinity: It’s RaizeFloof’s Tuhali taking a break to appreciate the delicate colors of nature! Always good to have a soft side when you’re an otherwise hefty melee fighter. Aww
Delicate: slaanesh-is-my-boy:

endivinity:

It’s RaizeFloof’s Tuhali taking a break to appreciate the delicate colors of nature! Always good to have a soft side when you’re an otherwise hefty melee fighter.


Aww

slaanesh-is-my-boy: endivinity: It’s RaizeFloof’s Tuhali taking a break to appreciate the delicate colors of nature! Always good to hav...

Delicate: ironwoman359: 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 I love this
Delicate: ironwoman359:
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



I love this

ironwoman359: cereusblue: unnameablethings: dragonsateyourtoast: redporkpadthai: dragonsateyourtoast: otherwindow: otherwindow: Th...

Delicate: Steve Silberman @stevesilbermarn Rosaries confiscated from immigrants at the Arizona/Mexico border. [via @MikeOLoughlin] newyorker.com/ culture/photo-, く @claríssalule Remember the piles of wedding rings taken from holocaust victims and how we see it now and wonder how we ever let the violation of human rights get so far well yeah cryptid-sighting: arithanas: gaylileofigaro: This is worse. Looking at these you can tell they have no significant monetary value. They were confiscated as a fear tactic. Nothing more. This picture breaks my heart everytime it appears in my dash. It’s a fear tactic, alright but— The first one in the left corner: It’s a first communion rosary, and it’s not cheap. The black one in the first line: That’s a widow rosary and it’s old. The white one in the second line:  is a commemoration rosary. It has a miniature picture in the round part. I haven’t seen that since the 70′s. In the third line, multicolor one: It’s an Anima mundi, I have only seen those in the hands of Rosary ministery’s old ladies. The oldest ones are from the 80′s after Juan Pablo II came to Mexico for the first time. It’s one of the old ones, I know because the crucifixes are different.  The third one on the fourth line: Red and gold. The style is old, the metal is dark, that’s a 50′s rosary, probably a quinceañera one (or it’s maybe older, from the 40′s when the brides carried red roses with their offerings). The fifth one on the fourth line: It’s a quinceañera rosary with Ignatius’s tear. The style is old and in my part of Mexico is orphan girls who used it. At least it was when I was young.The third one of the fifth line: the blue one with the anchor. That one I have only seen in Veracruz and it doesn’t look new.The fifth one on the fifth line: That’s a 90′s wedding rosary. Black and white patterns were popular on that date.The fourth one on the last line: That’s a first communion rosary from the 30′s. It’s delicate and most probably silver. The rest wrench my heart too, the humble everyday rosaries with wooden beads and knots. Those are cheap and bear the wear and tear of their user handling. But those  I described are much more. Those are mother’s rosaries. Those are not just rosaries. Those are mementos, that’s the proof of their families stories. They are taking from them the only portable things they can carry to feel the connection to their families.It’s not a fear tactic. Call it like by its name.It’s dehumanization. Just want to remind everyone that the DHS janitor who saved these rosaries and photographed them started his project in the latter years of the Bush administration and finished during the latter days of the Obama administration. Just in case anyone reading naively believes this atrocity began on November 8 2016
Delicate: Steve Silberman
 @stevesilbermarn
 Rosaries confiscated from immigrants
 at the Arizona/Mexico border. [via
 @MikeOLoughlin] newyorker.com/
 culture/photo-,

 く @claríssalule
 Remember the piles of wedding rings
 taken from holocaust victims and how
 we see it now and wonder how we
 ever let the violation of human rights
 get so far well yeah
cryptid-sighting:
arithanas:

gaylileofigaro:
This is worse. Looking at these you can tell they have no significant monetary value. They were confiscated as a fear tactic. Nothing more. 
This picture breaks my heart everytime it appears in my dash. It’s a fear tactic, alright but—
The first one in the left corner: It’s a first communion rosary, and it’s not cheap.
The black one in the first line: That’s a widow rosary and it’s old.
The white one in the second line:  is a commemoration rosary. It has a miniature picture in the round part. I haven’t seen that since the 70′s.
In the third line, multicolor one: It’s an Anima mundi, I have only seen those in the hands of Rosary ministery’s old ladies. The oldest ones are from the 80′s after Juan Pablo II came to Mexico for the first time. It’s one of the old ones, I know because the crucifixes are different.  The third one on the fourth line: Red and gold. The style is old, the metal is dark, that’s a 50′s rosary, probably a quinceañera one (or it’s maybe older, from the 40′s when the brides carried red roses with their offerings).
The fifth one on the fourth line: It’s a quinceañera rosary with Ignatius’s tear. The style is old and in my part of Mexico is orphan girls who used it. At least it was when I was young.The third one of the fifth line: the blue one with the anchor. That one I have only seen in Veracruz and it doesn’t look new.The fifth one on the fifth line: That’s a 90′s wedding rosary. Black and white patterns were popular on that date.The fourth one on the last line: That’s a first communion rosary from the 30′s. It’s delicate and most probably silver. The rest wrench my heart too, the humble everyday rosaries with wooden beads and knots. Those are cheap and bear the wear and tear of their user handling. But those  I described are much more. 
Those are mother’s rosaries.
Those are not just rosaries. Those are mementos, that’s the proof of their families stories. They are taking from them the only portable things they can carry to feel the connection to their families.It’s not a fear tactic. Call it like by its name.It’s dehumanization.

Just want to remind everyone that the DHS janitor who saved these rosaries and photographed them started his project in the latter years of the Bush administration and finished during the latter days of the Obama administration.
Just in case anyone reading naively believes this atrocity began on November 8 2016

cryptid-sighting: arithanas: gaylileofigaro: This is worse. Looking at these you can tell they have no significant monetary value. They...

Delicate: Steve Silberman @stevesilbermarn Rosaries confiscated from immigrants at the Arizona/Mexico border. [via @MikeOLoughlin] newyorker.com/ culture/photo-, く @claríssalule Remember the piles of wedding rings taken from holocaust victims and how we see it now and wonder how we ever let the violation of human rights get so far well yeah cryptid-sighting: arithanas: gaylileofigaro: This is worse. Looking at these you can tell they have no significant monetary value. They were confiscated as a fear tactic. Nothing more. This picture breaks my heart everytime it appears in my dash. It’s a fear tactic, alright but— The first one in the left corner: It’s a first communion rosary, and it’s not cheap. The black one in the first line: That’s a widow rosary and it’s old. The white one in the second line:  is a commemoration rosary. It has a miniature picture in the round part. I haven’t seen that since the 70′s. In the third line, multicolor one: It’s an Anima mundi, I have only seen those in the hands of Rosary ministery’s old ladies. The oldest ones are from the 80′s after Juan Pablo II came to Mexico for the first time. It’s one of the old ones, I know because the crucifixes are different.  The third one on the fourth line: Red and gold. The style is old, the metal is dark, that’s a 50′s rosary, probably a quinceañera one (or it’s maybe older, from the 40′s when the brides carried red roses with their offerings). The fifth one on the fourth line: It’s a quinceañera rosary with Ignatius’s tear. The style is old and in my part of Mexico is orphan girls who used it. At least it was when I was young.The third one of the fifth line: the blue one with the anchor. That one I have only seen in Veracruz and it doesn’t look new.The fifth one on the fifth line: That’s a 90′s wedding rosary. Black and white patterns were popular on that date.The fourth one on the last line: That’s a first communion rosary from the 30′s. It’s delicate and most probably silver. The rest wrench my heart too, the humble everyday rosaries with wooden beads and knots. Those are cheap and bear the wear and tear of their user handling. But those  I described are much more. Those are mother’s rosaries. Those are not just rosaries. Those are mementos, that’s the proof of their families stories. They are taking from them the only portable things they can carry to feel the connection to their families.It’s not a fear tactic. Call it like by its name.It’s dehumanization. Just want to remind everyone that the DHS janitor who saved these rosaries and photographed them started his project in the latter years of the Bush administration and finished during the latter days of the Obama administration. Just in case anyone reading naively believes this atrocity began on November 8 2016
Delicate: Steve Silberman
 @stevesilbermarn
 Rosaries confiscated from immigrants
 at the Arizona/Mexico border. [via
 @MikeOLoughlin] newyorker.com/
 culture/photo-,

 く @claríssalule
 Remember the piles of wedding rings
 taken from holocaust victims and how
 we see it now and wonder how we
 ever let the violation of human rights
 get so far well yeah
cryptid-sighting:
arithanas:

gaylileofigaro:
This is worse. Looking at these you can tell they have no significant monetary value. They were confiscated as a fear tactic. Nothing more. 
This picture breaks my heart everytime it appears in my dash. It’s a fear tactic, alright but—
The first one in the left corner: It’s a first communion rosary, and it’s not cheap.
The black one in the first line: That’s a widow rosary and it’s old.
The white one in the second line:  is a commemoration rosary. It has a miniature picture in the round part. I haven’t seen that since the 70′s.
In the third line, multicolor one: It’s an Anima mundi, I have only seen those in the hands of Rosary ministery’s old ladies. The oldest ones are from the 80′s after Juan Pablo II came to Mexico for the first time. It’s one of the old ones, I know because the crucifixes are different.  The third one on the fourth line: Red and gold. The style is old, the metal is dark, that’s a 50′s rosary, probably a quinceañera one (or it’s maybe older, from the 40′s when the brides carried red roses with their offerings).
The fifth one on the fourth line: It’s a quinceañera rosary with Ignatius’s tear. The style is old and in my part of Mexico is orphan girls who used it. At least it was when I was young.The third one of the fifth line: the blue one with the anchor. That one I have only seen in Veracruz and it doesn’t look new.The fifth one on the fifth line: That’s a 90′s wedding rosary. Black and white patterns were popular on that date.The fourth one on the last line: That’s a first communion rosary from the 30′s. It’s delicate and most probably silver. The rest wrench my heart too, the humble everyday rosaries with wooden beads and knots. Those are cheap and bear the wear and tear of their user handling. But those  I described are much more. 
Those are mother’s rosaries.
Those are not just rosaries. Those are mementos, that’s the proof of their families stories. They are taking from them the only portable things they can carry to feel the connection to their families.It’s not a fear tactic. Call it like by its name.It’s dehumanization.

Just want to remind everyone that the DHS janitor who saved these rosaries and photographed them started his project in the latter years of the Bush administration and finished during the latter days of the Obama administration.
Just in case anyone reading naively believes this atrocity began on November 8 2016

cryptid-sighting: arithanas: gaylileofigaro: This is worse. Looking at these you can tell they have no significant monetary value. They...

Delicate: Princess Qajar. A symbol of beauty in Persia. 13 young men killed themselves because she rejected them. bigsleevescollects: kyojinofbraveos: sighs….. Internet is back at it, again….. When someone says harem to people, these kind of paintings come up in people’s mind. L.F. Comerre. (1850 - 1916) But, people who drew these paintings, they are called orientalists, have never seen a harem because NO STRANGER WERE ALLOWED TO ENTER THE HAREM UNLESS THEY WANT TO LOSE THEIR HEAD. So they painted what they dreamt of, since they were grown up with Western beauty concepts, they painted Harem girls as what their culture accepted beautiful. BUT, at 19th century Persia, the Western beauty standards were not dominant. So of course, they had their own beauty standards and their own concept of beauty. The more masculine a woman was, more beautiful she was accepted. The opposite was also true for men. Women with heavy brows and faint mustaches considered so attractive that they were sometimes painted on or augmented with mascara and young beardless men with slim waists and delicate features. In 19th century portraits of lovers, the genders are barely distinguishable, identified only by their headgear. Young men without beards were the idols of beauty that time. Sexual mores and erotic sensibilities of 19th century Iran permitted homosexuality between these young men and older men. BUT, after Iran started to be more modern, aka more Westernized, this beauty standards were lost. West beauty standards started to be more dominant and homosexuality was no longer permitted. Today, it is a crime to be homosexual at Iran. This book, women with mustaches and men without beards, is about the beauty standards of Persia at Qajar dynasty. If you are interested, you can buy it and read. HERE is an interview with the author, Afsaneh Najmabadi. At that time, Qajar princess was considered beautiful. Today, uncultured internet memers are making fun of her.  Shame @ all of you. EDIT: That’s not Pricess Qajar ffs….. Qajar is the name of dynasty, not the princess…. Her name is  Zahra Khanom Tadj es-Saltaneh, she was the daughter of the King of Persia in the early 19th century. Not to forget that she had a university education.
Delicate: Princess Qajar.
 A symbol of beauty in Persia.
 13 young men killed themselves
 because she rejected them.
bigsleevescollects:
kyojinofbraveos:

sighs…..
Internet is back at it, again…..
When someone says harem to people, these kind of paintings come up in people’s mind.
L.F. Comerre. (1850 - 1916)
But, people who drew these paintings, they are called orientalists, have never seen a harem because NO STRANGER WERE ALLOWED TO ENTER THE HAREM UNLESS THEY WANT TO LOSE THEIR HEAD. So they painted what they dreamt of, since they were grown up with Western beauty concepts, they painted Harem girls as what their culture accepted beautiful.
BUT, at 19th century Persia, the Western beauty standards were not dominant. So of course, they had their own beauty standards and their own concept of beauty.
The more masculine a woman was, more beautiful she was accepted. The opposite was also true for men. Women with heavy brows and faint mustaches considered so attractive that they were sometimes painted on or augmented with mascara and young beardless men with slim waists and delicate features. In 19th century portraits of lovers, the genders are barely distinguishable, identified only by their headgear.
Young men without beards were the idols of beauty that time. Sexual mores and erotic sensibilities of 19th century Iran permitted homosexuality between these young men and older men.
BUT, after Iran started to be more modern, aka more Westernized, this beauty standards were lost. West beauty standards started to be more dominant and homosexuality was no longer permitted. Today, it is a crime to be homosexual at Iran.
This book, women with mustaches and men without beards, is about the beauty standards of Persia at Qajar dynasty. If you are interested, you can buy it and read. HERE is an interview with the author, Afsaneh Najmabadi.
At that time, Qajar princess was considered beautiful. Today, uncultured internet memers are making fun of her.  Shame @ all of you.
EDIT: That’s not Pricess Qajar ffs….. Qajar is the name of dynasty, not the princess….

Her name is  Zahra Khanom Tadj es-Saltaneh, she was the daughter of the King of Persia in the early 19th century. Not to forget that she had a university education.

bigsleevescollects: kyojinofbraveos: sighs….. Internet is back at it, again….. When someone says harem to people, these kind of painting...

Delicate: factfiction emiliusthegreat Follow partybarackisinthehousetonight releases pack of dads into home depot* go....be free hotcommunist invasive species encroach on lesbian territory dreaming-shark This is a common misconception because they're such similar environments, but you should be aware that dads are native to Home Depot, while lesbians are actually native to Lowe's. At this point, however, both dads and lesbians have made themselves at home in both Home Depot and Lowe's to the point that trying to separate them back into their original ranges would probably do more harm than good to the delicate ecosystem of large chain hardware stores. ailithnight A properly raised and socialized Dad will be perfectly comfort- able cohabiting with Lesbians. Its not really "encroaching on another's territory". You wouldn't say that about foxes in a forest that also homes bobcats, would you? No. It's just two different species that have both evolved to live in similar/the same environment. As long as they recognize each other as equals, Dads and Lesbians are more than capable of cohabitation. Now, if you were to release a pack of Lumberjacks into a or Home Depot, that's where chaos will reign. Being adap far harsher and more demanding environment, the Lumberjacks would simply push Dads and Lesbians both out and also consume far more than a sustainable amount of resources. It would be like releasing bears at a country club. chequerootlurks As a former timber-harveste... I feel this is potentially accurate in theory. But highly improbable in actuality. Lumberjacks, like most megafauna species generally require more space than the average hardware store, even a big box store could provide. The misconception is that Lumberjacks are a social species because of how they often work and live together. This is a matter of necessity, not preference, and a survival technique for thriving under the Log Boss. A "pack" of Lumberjacks, if not under the environmental pressure of a Log Boss will naturally disperse until they each have a wide territory Lumberjacks rarely fight for territory. One on one, a Lumberjack could drive out a Dad or Lesbian, however the latter tend to travel in social packs. Lumberjacks will passively retreat on the presence of large numbers of people. Kind of like Sasquatch Getting a "pack" of Lumberjacks assembled would be hard enough unless they were forced into a Hardware Store by a LogBoss. In that case, they would already be in a heightened and potentially agitated state far above their natural behavior. This artificial scenario can be likened to a circus animal running amok If it had been in the wild, the incident would not have occurred. Free-roaming Lumberjacks are the cryptids of the Hardware system. They are surprisingly quiet and unobtrusive Please stop labeling Lumberjacks as dangerous roving social predators. They are intermediate level omnivores and remarkably peaceful unless threatened. katy-l-wood As a hardware store worker I can say that this is all 100% accurate. The delicate ecosystem of large chain hardware stores
Delicate: factfiction
 emiliusthegreat Follow
 partybarackisinthehousetonight
 releases pack of dads into home depot* go....be free
 hotcommunist
 invasive species encroach on lesbian territory
 dreaming-shark
 This is a common misconception because they're such similar
 environments, but you should be aware that dads are native to
 Home Depot, while lesbians are actually native to Lowe's. At this
 point, however, both dads and lesbians have made themselves at
 home in both Home Depot and Lowe's to the point that trying to
 separate them back into their original ranges would probably do
 more harm than good to the delicate ecosystem of large chain
 hardware stores.
 ailithnight
 A properly raised and socialized Dad will be perfectly comfort-
 able cohabiting with Lesbians. Its not really "encroaching on
 another's territory". You wouldn't say that about foxes in a forest
 that also homes bobcats, would you? No. It's just two different
 species that have both evolved to live in similar/the same
 environment. As long as they recognize each other as equals,
 Dads and Lesbians are more than capable of cohabitation.
 Now, if you were to release a pack of Lumberjacks into a
 or Home Depot, that's where chaos will reign. Being adap
 far harsher and more demanding environment, the Lumberjacks
 would simply push Dads and Lesbians both out and also
 consume far more than a sustainable amount of resources. It
 would be like releasing bears at a country club.
 chequerootlurks
 As a former timber-harveste... I feel this is potentially accurate in
 theory. But highly improbable in actuality.
 Lumberjacks, like most megafauna species generally require
 more space than the average hardware store, even a big box
 store could provide. The misconception is that Lumberjacks are a
 social species because of how they often work and live together.
 This is a matter of necessity, not preference, and a survival
 technique for thriving under the Log Boss.
 A "pack" of Lumberjacks, if not under the environmental
 pressure of a Log Boss will naturally disperse until they each have
 a wide territory
 Lumberjacks rarely fight for territory.
 One on one, a Lumberjack could drive out a Dad or Lesbian,
 however the latter tend to travel in social packs.
 Lumberjacks will passively retreat on the presence of large
 numbers of people. Kind of like Sasquatch
 Getting a "pack" of Lumberjacks assembled would be hard
 enough unless they were forced into a Hardware Store by a
 LogBoss. In that case, they would already be in a heightened and
 potentially agitated state far above their natural behavior. This
 artificial scenario can be likened to a circus animal running amok
 If it had been in the wild, the incident would not have occurred.
 Free-roaming Lumberjacks are the cryptids of the Hardware
 system. They are surprisingly quiet and unobtrusive
 Please stop labeling Lumberjacks as dangerous roving social
 predators. They are intermediate level omnivores and remarkably
 peaceful unless threatened.
 katy-l-wood
 As a hardware store worker I can say that this is all 100%
 accurate.
The delicate ecosystem of large chain hardware stores

The delicate ecosystem of large chain hardware stores

Delicate: The 10O Most Beautiful Words in Ailurophile: A cat-lover emblage: A gathering. Becoming: Attr Beleaguer: To exhaust with attacks Brood: To think alone ng Bungalow: A small, cozy cottage Chatoyant: Like a cat's eye ely: Attractive Conflate: To blend together Cynosure: A focal point of admiration. Dalliance: A brief love affair Demesne: Dominion, territory Demure: Shy and reserved Denouement: The resolution of a mystery Desuetude: Disuse. Desultory: Slow, sluggish. Diaphanous: Filmy Dissemble ive Dulcet: Sweet, sugary. Ebullience: Bubbling enthusiasm. Effervescent: Bubbly Efflorescence: Flowering, blooming. Elision: Dropping a sound or syllable in a word r: Eloquence: Beauty and persuasion in speech. Embrocation: Rubbing on a lotion. Emollient: A softener Ephemeral: Short-lived Epiphany: A sudden revelation. Erstwhile: At one time, for a time Ethereal: Gaseous, invisible but detectable Evanescent: Vanishing quickly, lasting a very short time Evocative: Suggestive Fetching:Pretty Felicity: Pleasantness Forbearance: Withholding response to provocation. Fugacious: Fleeting hifty, sneaky Gambol: To skip or leap about joyfully Glamour: Beauty. Gossamer: The finest piece of thread, a spider's silk n: Harbinger: Messenger with news of the future Imbrication: Overlapping and forming a regular pattern. Imbroglio: An altercation or complicated situation. Imbue: To infuse, instill. Incipient: Beginning, in an early stage Ineffable: Unutterable, inexpressible Ingénue: A naive young woman. Inglenook: A cozy nook by the hearth. Insouciance: Blithe nonchalance Inure: To become jaded Labyrinthine: Twisting and turning Lagniappe: A special kind of gift. Lagoon: A small gulf or inlet. Languor: Listlessness, inactivity Lassitude: Weariness, listlessness. Lilt: To move musically or lively Lissome: Slender and graceful. Lithe: Slender and flexible. ve Mellifluous: Sweet sounding. Moiety: One of two equal parts. Mondegreen: A slip of the ear Murmurous: Murmuring Nemesis:An unconquerable archenemy Offing: The sea between the horizon and the offshore Onomatopoeia: A word that sounds like its meaning Opulent: Lush, luxuriant. Palimpsest: A manuscript written over earlier ones Panacea: A solution for all problems Panoply: A complete set. Pastiche: An art work combining materials from various sources. Penumbra: A half-shadow Petrichor: The smell of earth after rain. Plethora:A large quantity. Propinquity: An inclination. Pyrrhic: Successful with heavy losses. Quintessential: Most essential Ratatouille: A spicy French stew. Ravel: To knit or unknit. Redolent: Fragrant. Riparian: By the bank of a stream. Ripple: A very small wave Scintilla: A spark or very small thing Sempiternal: Eternal Seraglio: Rich, luxurious oriental palace or harem. Serendipity: Finding something nice while looking for something else Summery: Light, delicate or warm and sunny Sumptuous: Lush, luxurious. Surreptitious: Secretive, sneaky Susquehanna: A river in Pennsylvania Susurrous: Whispering, hissing Talisman: A good luck charm. Tintinnabulation: Tinkling. Umbrella: Protection from sun or rain. Untoward: Unseemly, inappropriate. Vestigial: In trace amounts Wafture: Waving Wherewithal: The means. Woebegone: Sorrowful, downcast THE META PICTURE laughoutloud-club: Beautiful English Words
Delicate: The 10O Most Beautiful
 Words in
 Ailurophile: A cat-lover
 emblage: A gathering.
 Becoming: Attr
 Beleaguer: To exhaust with attacks
 Brood: To think alone
 ng
 Bungalow: A small, cozy cottage
 Chatoyant: Like a cat's eye
 ely: Attractive
 Conflate: To blend together
 Cynosure: A focal point of admiration.
 Dalliance: A brief love affair
 Demesne: Dominion, territory
 Demure: Shy and reserved
 Denouement: The resolution of a mystery
 Desuetude: Disuse.
 Desultory: Slow, sluggish.
 Diaphanous: Filmy
 Dissemble
 ive
 Dulcet: Sweet, sugary.
 Ebullience: Bubbling enthusiasm.
 Effervescent: Bubbly
 Efflorescence: Flowering, blooming.
 Elision: Dropping a sound or syllable in a word
 r:
 Eloquence: Beauty and persuasion in speech.
 Embrocation: Rubbing on a lotion.
 Emollient: A softener
 Ephemeral: Short-lived
 Epiphany: A sudden revelation.
 Erstwhile: At one time, for a time
 Ethereal: Gaseous, invisible but detectable
 Evanescent: Vanishing quickly, lasting a very short time
 Evocative: Suggestive
 Fetching:Pretty
 Felicity: Pleasantness
 Forbearance: Withholding response to provocation.
 Fugacious: Fleeting
 hifty, sneaky
 Gambol: To skip or leap about joyfully
 Glamour: Beauty.
 Gossamer: The finest piece of thread, a spider's silk
 n:
 Harbinger: Messenger with news of the future
 Imbrication: Overlapping and forming a regular pattern.
 Imbroglio: An altercation or complicated situation.
 Imbue: To infuse, instill.
 Incipient: Beginning, in an early stage
 Ineffable: Unutterable, inexpressible
 Ingénue: A naive young woman.
 Inglenook: A cozy nook by the hearth.
 Insouciance: Blithe nonchalance
 Inure: To become jaded
 Labyrinthine: Twisting and turning
 Lagniappe: A special kind of gift.
 Lagoon: A small gulf or inlet.
 Languor: Listlessness, inactivity
 Lassitude: Weariness, listlessness.
 Lilt: To move musically or lively
 Lissome: Slender and graceful.
 Lithe: Slender and flexible.
 ve
 Mellifluous: Sweet sounding.
 Moiety: One of two equal parts.
 Mondegreen: A slip of the ear
 Murmurous: Murmuring
 Nemesis:An unconquerable archenemy
 Offing: The sea between the horizon and the offshore
 Onomatopoeia: A word that sounds like its meaning
 Opulent: Lush, luxuriant.
 Palimpsest: A manuscript written over earlier ones
 Panacea: A solution for all problems
 Panoply: A complete set.
 Pastiche: An art work combining materials from various sources.
 Penumbra: A half-shadow
 Petrichor: The smell of earth after rain.
 Plethora:A large quantity.
 Propinquity: An inclination.
 Pyrrhic: Successful with heavy losses.
 Quintessential: Most essential
 Ratatouille: A spicy French stew.
 Ravel: To knit or unknit.
 Redolent: Fragrant.
 Riparian: By the bank of a stream.
 Ripple: A very small wave
 Scintilla: A spark or very small thing
 Sempiternal: Eternal
 Seraglio: Rich, luxurious oriental palace or harem.
 Serendipity: Finding something nice while looking for something else
 Summery: Light, delicate or warm and sunny
 Sumptuous: Lush, luxurious.
 Surreptitious: Secretive, sneaky
 Susquehanna: A river in Pennsylvania
 Susurrous: Whispering, hissing
 Talisman: A good luck charm.
 Tintinnabulation: Tinkling.
 Umbrella: Protection from sun or rain.
 Untoward: Unseemly, inappropriate.
 Vestigial: In trace amounts
 Wafture: Waving
 Wherewithal: The means.
 Woebegone: Sorrowful, downcast
 THE META PICTURE
laughoutloud-club:

Beautiful English Words

laughoutloud-club: Beautiful English Words

Delicate: Where y'all want to put Rihanna. Eric" calls this area"Upper Echelon Can't Sing Where I'm arguing Rihanna belongs. Ariana Grande Whitney Houston Aretha Franklin Anita Baker Mariah Carey Beyonce Patti Labelle Jazmine Sullivan KeKe Wyat Keri Hilson SZA Ciara ill Scott Solange Monica Alicia Keys after the braids Fantasla Brandy Cassie Diana Ross lol Kehlani Taylor Swift Tamia Janet Jackson Jhene Aiko Britney Spears Adele (sometimes) Kelis Erica Mena Can "SANG" Can Sing Can Not beyonslayed: c-bassmeow: beyonslayed: c-bassmeow: florencelovesyou: beyonslayed: p-l-e-a-s-e wow Velvety Kelis behind Janet Whispering-Mouse Jackson?  Adele Brandy (vocally) wtf  Cassie, although I love her, should be dead last. Name me one song where she holds a note longer than two milliseconds. CANT Adele WHO????????? I don’t even like Adele but i have ears that work and Brandy’s delicate flower petal voice would collapse under the pressure of Rolling In the Deep SORRY  Brandy Norwood who was trained by and is only second to Whitney Houston herself would collapse under who? Yawndele has nowhere near the control that Brandy does ok now this convo is going to change. Second to whitney houston? so you’re saying that Brandy is better then Beyonce and Mariah Carey?!?!?!? WHAT ?!?!?! am I reading things correctly do words have meaning i had a stroke is this sarcasm help me 
Delicate: Where y'all want to put Rihanna.
 Eric" calls this area"Upper Echelon Can't Sing
 Where I'm arguing Rihanna belongs.
 Ariana Grande
 Whitney Houston
 Aretha Franklin Anita Baker
 Mariah Carey
 Beyonce
 Patti Labelle Jazmine Sullivan
 KeKe Wyat
 Keri Hilson
 SZA
 Ciara
 ill Scott
 Solange
 Monica
 Alicia Keys
 after the braids
 Fantasla Brandy
 Cassie
 Diana Ross lol
 Kehlani
 Taylor Swift
 Tamia
 Janet Jackson
 Jhene Aiko
 Britney Spears
 Adele (sometimes)
 Kelis
 Erica Mena
 Can "SANG"
 Can Sing
 Can Not
beyonslayed:
c-bassmeow:


beyonslayed:

c-bassmeow:

florencelovesyou:

beyonslayed:
p-l-e-a-s-e
wow

Velvety Kelis behind Janet Whispering-Mouse Jackson? 
Adele  Brandy (vocally) wtf 
Cassie, although I love her, should be dead last. Name me one song where she holds a note longer than two milliseconds. CANT

Adele  WHO?????????

I don’t even like Adele but i have ears that work and Brandy’s delicate flower petal voice would collapse under the pressure of Rolling In the Deep SORRY 


Brandy Norwood who was trained by and is only second to Whitney Houston herself would collapse under who? Yawndele has nowhere near the control that Brandy does

ok now this convo is going to change. Second to whitney houston? so you’re saying that Brandy is better then Beyonce and Mariah Carey?!?!?!? WHAT ?!?!?! am I reading things correctly do words have meaning i had a stroke is this sarcasm help me 

beyonslayed: c-bassmeow: beyonslayed: c-bassmeow: florencelovesyou: beyonslayed: p-l-e-a-s-e wow Velvety Kelis behind Janet Whisper...